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Old  Blarney  Castle. 

The  most  noted  structure  of  its  kind  in  the  world. 
Carmac  McCarthy  in  1446. 


It  was  erected  by 


SHAMROCK   LAND 

A 
RAMBLE   THROUGH  IRELAND 


BY 

PLUMMER   F.   JONES 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

MOFFAT,  YARD  &  COMPANY 
1909 


BOSTON  l^'OLjuiiorlL  l^lBRARlf 


wmmmmm 


Copyright,  igo8,  hy 

MOFFAT,  YARD  &    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


Published,  September,  1908 
Second  printing,  Fehriiary,  1909 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.  U^A. 


MY    PARENTS 

FROM  WHOM   I   INHERITED  A   LOVE   FOR  NATURE 

AND    A     SYMPATHY    FOR    MY 

FELLOW-MEN 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGI 

I.     First  Glimpses  of  Ireland i 

II.    Old  Cork  and  the  Castle  of  Blarney     .     .  30 

III.  Walks  and  Talks  with  the   People  of  Kil- 

larney 58 

IV.  A  Ramble  through  the  Golden  Vale  of  Tip- 

PERARY 87 

V.     On  a  Jaunting-car  in  Tipperary      ....  118 

VI.    With  the  Peat-cutters  in  Galway       .     .     .  147 

VII.     Gal  way's  Tragedy  —  The  First  Lynching  175 

VIII.     In  Quest  of  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village  .  198 

IX.    The  Irish  Woman  —  Aristocrat  and  Peasant  218 

X.    The  Two  Irelands  —  North  and  South    .     .  247 

XI.    Rural  Ireland  as  it  is  To-day 282 

XII.    Sunset  at  the  Giant's  Causeway     ....  313 


▼u 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

TACING 

PAGE 

Old  Blarney  Castle Frontispiece 

Q^ueenstown  and  Her  Harbor lo 

An  Irish  Train,  Primitive  as  all  Irish  Trains  are       ...  i6 
Round  Tower  and  Village  Street  in  Cloyne,  near  Cork  Har- 
bor         l8 

Mardyke  Walk,  Cork 34 

A  Post-office,  Three  Miles  from  Cork 42 

Blarney  Castle,  near  Cork 48 

On  an  Irish  Road 56 

Old  Weir  Bridge  —  Killarney 64 

Upper  Lake  —  Killarney 66 

A  Lane  in  Killarney  Town 72 

The  Lower  Lake,  Killarney 80 

Old  Ross  Castle  on  the  Lower  Lake,  Killarney   ....  86 

In  an  Alley  of  an  Inland  Irish  Town         102 

A  Cromlech,  near  Dundalk 106 

Old  Cross  and  Round  Tower no 

View  from  the  Summit  of  the  Rock  of  Cashel      .      .      .      .  116 

The  Irish  Jaunting-car          118 

A  Typical  Irish  Landscape 124 

A  Road  in  Tipperary 128 

"The  Top  o'  the  Morning  to  Ye" 136 

An  Irish  Country  Store 142 

A  Rural  School 152 

In  Sight  of  the  Grassy  Fields 160 

On  His  Knees  in  a  Potato  Patch 164 

ix 


X  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


In  a  Galway  Peat  Bog i66 

Three  Half-grown  White  Shoats  Emerged  from  the  Open 

Doorway 172 

"From  that  Window  Walter  Lynch  was  Flung"        .      .      .  196 

Standing  Bare-legged  on  a  Rocky  Irish  Hillside  .  .  .  202 
"Glory  to  God!    Amuriky  will  yet   be   th'   Home  of  this 

Ould  Mon" 204 

Ruins  of  the  Goldsmith  Home 206 

In  the  Heart  of  the  Deserted  Village  —  a  Home  that  has 

Survived 212 

Ruin-s  of  the  "Busy  Mill,"  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village     .  214 

Tavern  —  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons,  the  Deserted  Village     .  216 

View  from  the  Home  of  One  of  the  Gentry 220 

Milking  the  Goat 226 

An  Old  Timer  Coming  Home  from  the  Wood      ....  236 

Peddling  Turf  —  Twelve  Sods  a  Penny 238 

A  Seller  of  Blackthorn  Sticks            242 

A  Landscape  View  of  North  Ireland 264 

Homes  in  Southwestern  Ireland 270 

Coragher's  Farm,  the  Home  of  the  Ancestry  of  President 

McKinley 282 

Landscape  —  Western  Ireland „  284 

An  Irish  Interior ,  292 

The  Vale  of  Glendalough,  County  Wicklow    .      .      .     „       ,  304 

A  Bit  of  Coast  in  North  Ireland »      ^  318 

Dunluce  Castle,  near  the  Giant's  Causeway    ......  324 

Sunset  at  the  Giant's  Causeway »     »  332 


INTRODUCTION 

This  book  is  only  an  account  of  a  summer 
ramble  through  Ireland.  I  entered  the  coun- 
try a  total  stranger,  interested  in  the  island 
chiefly  on  account  of  what  I  had  heard  and 
read  of  its  people,  its  old  ruins,  its  stories  and 
legends,  and  the  reputed  beauty  of  its  land- 
scapes. I  traveled  through  sixteen  of  the 
thirty-two  counties,  visiting  each  of  the  four 
divisions  of  the  island.  North,  East,  South  and 
West,  and  coming  in  contact  with  all  classes 
and  conditions  of  its  citizens,  from  those  who 
lived  in  marble  front  houses  in  the  cities  to 
the  inhabitants  of  one-room  mud  huts  in  the 
mountains  of  the  West  and  the  bogs  of  the 
interior.  When  I  sailed  away  from  the  port 
of  Larne  for  Scotland  I  felt  that  I  had  had  a 
remarkable  experience. 

In  this  book  I  have  added  to  what  I  actually 
saw  and  heard  bits  of  Irish  history  gathered 
from  reliable  sources  and  some  interesting 
legends  which  I  had  little  difficulty  in  picking 


XI 


xi'I  INTRODUCTION 

up  along  the  way.  These  additions  may  serve 
to  give  to  the  reader  a  view-point  similar  to  that 
which  I  possessed  when  engaged  in  this  pleas- 
ant ramble. 

I  trust  that  no  reader  will  hold  me  too  strictly 
to  account  for  any  apparent  opinions  which 
may  be  directly  or  indirectly  expressed  in  the 
book.  I  have  not  intended  to  express  opinions, 
because  I  have  such  an  imperfect  knowledge 
of  Irish  history,  politics  and  character  that  I 
do  not  feel  competent  to  draw  conclusions  in 
matters  which  have  puzzled  wise  men  for  cen- 
turies. Besides  this,  I  have  not  the  least  desire 
to  change  any  one's  views  on  the  Irish  ques- 
tion. I  myself  have  no  definite  views;  and  I 
hope  that  however  great  my  knowledge  of  Ire- 
land or  Irish  affairs  may  in  the  future  become, 
I  will  never  allow  myself  to  be  tied  down  to  a 
side. 

Such  impressions  as  were  made  upon  me  by 
my  contact  with  the  Irish  people  in  their  own 
country  are  altogether  unprejudiced  impres- 
sions. There  is  no  reason  why  they  should  be 
otherwise.  For  I  am  an  American  citizen, 
and  my  ancestors  came  to  Virginia  so  long  ago 
that  I  do  not  hold  the  slightest  allegiance  to 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

the  several  lands  from  which  they  came;  least 
of  all  have  I  any  personal  interest  in  Ireland's 
troubles  with  England. 

To  me  this  summer  trip  through  Ireland  was 
a  delightful  one;  I  shall  never  forget  it.  I  was 
altogether  charmed  with  all  that  I  saw  —  not 
only  with  the  scenery  and  the  ruins  of  that 
fascinating  land,  but  with  the  people  them- 
selves, their  manners,  their  quaint  speech,  their 
wit,  their  pathos,  and  their  unbounded  hos- 
pitality. If  in  this  book  I  can  convey  to  the 
reader  even  in  an  imperfect  way  the  impres- 
sions which  those  things  I  saw  and  heard  in 
Ireland  made  upon  me  I  shall  feel  amply  re- 
warded for  my  task. 

While  on  this  trip  and  after  my  return  home 
I  wrote  a  number  of  articles  and  sketches, 
recording  impressions  of  the  country  and  its 
people,  which  were  widely  circulated.  I  would 
like,  therefore,  to  acknowledge  my  indebted- 
ness to  the  following  American  magazines 
and  newspapers,  in  each  of  which  appeared 
one  or  more  articles  from  which  I  have  drawn 
matter  for  use  in  this  book:  The  American 
Monthly  Review  of  Reviews,  The  World  To- 
day, The  Book    News    Monthly,    The    Interior, 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

The  National  Home  Journal,  The  Pittsburg 
Dispatch,  The  Providence  Journal,  The  Rich- 
mond Times-Dispatch,  and  the  Columbia  (S.  C.) 
State. 

Plummer  F.  Jones. 


SHAMROCK-LAND 

CHAPTER   I 

FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF   IRELAND 

IT  was  the  afternoon  of  a  June  day,  and  a 
cold,  biting  wind  swept  the  decks  of  the  great 
ocean  steamship  which  a  few  days  before  had 
set  sail  from  America  for  Queenstown  and 
Liverpool.  The  day  had  dawned  bright,  and 
clear,  and  cold,  —  just  such  a  day  as  one  who 
was  reared  in  a  Middle  Atlantic  State  is  accus- 
tomed to  associate  with  early  October,  —  the 
opening  of  chestnut  burrs,  the  jay's  shrill  cry, 
and  the  tang  of  autumn  fields.  Yet  before 
noon,  contrary  to  every  American  notion  of 
climatic  virtue,  the  air  began  to  fill  with  a  blind- 
ing, stinging  mist  which  settled  down  over  the 
ocean  like  a  pall. 

The  ocean  chart,  posted  in  the  cabin  at  noon, 
had  indicated  that  we  were  within  a  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  of  Queenstown.  Eyes  that  had 
grown  tired  of  the  gray  monotony  of  the  ocean 


2  SHAMROCK-LAND 

now  brightened  as  they  peered  through  the 
gloom  for  some  sign  of  the  journey's  end.  Land 
could  not  be  far  away,  for  seagulls  and  swallows 
had  begun  to  follow  behind  our  vessel,  and  far 
off  ahead  in  the  misty  distance  steamers  with 
long  trails  of  black  smoke  passed  beyond  our 
range  of  vision  bearing  the  commerce  of  a 
foreign  world.  Out  in  front  of  us  three  naked 
spars  stood  between  our  ship  and  the  gloomy 
sky.  About  this  vessel,  scattered  here  and 
there  upon  the  sea,  little  black  specks  rose  and 
fell  with  the  waves.  It  was  a  fleet  of  dark- 
sailed  fishing  craft,  manned  by  fishermen  of 
swarthy  complexion  and  the  strong,  firm  fea- 
tures of  the  Celt.  They  waved  us  a  rough 
welcome  from  their  unsteady  boats  as  we 
passed. 

A  rift  appeared  in  the  storm-clouds  and  the 
swirling  waste  of  mist.  The  red  sun  struggled 
out  of  the  gloom,  sending  long  lines  of  light 
across  the  white-capped  waves.  Far  away  on 
the  north,  peering  through  a  melting  cloud  of 
vapor,  and  swept  with  restless  winds,  arose  — 
ah!  how  wondrous  in  beauty!  —  an  opaHne 
mountain  of  Ireland!  What  a  significance  that 
thus  through  storm  and  darkness  should  have 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  3 

come  to  us  the  first  glimpse  of  this  strange,  sor- 
rowful island  of  the  sea! 

It  was  Lord  Beaconsfield  who  in  the  climax 
of  a  great  speech  ascribed  all  the  troubles  of 
Ireland  to  the  fact  that  she  is  surrounded  by  a 
melancholy  ocean.  And  who  indeed  can  resist 
the  thought  that  the  minds  of  men  are  gov- 
erned and  their  dispositions  and  temperaments 
largely  determined  by  the  sky  under  which  they 
live  and  the  horizon  by  which  they  are  circum- 
scribed ? 

Picture,  if  you  can,  a  jagged  line  of  shore, 
with  mighty  cliffs  lifting  themselves  above  the 
gray  waste  of  sea,  the  scarps  and  mountains 
broken  and  bare,  the  crumbhng  boulders  fretted 
with  the  furious  lashings  of  storm-waves  which 
have  beaten  in  with  dreadful  monotony  since 
the  very  beginnings  of  time.  Then  think  of 
that  sea  stretched  far,  far  out  until  its  restless 
infinitude  becomes  one  with  the  sky  of  wind- 
driven  cloud  and  melting,  twisting  skeins  of 
streaming  rain.  And  see  the  country  behind, 
rocky,  worn,  and  bare,  swept  with  the  storm  and 
soaked  with  rain.  And  farther  back  still  the 
tall  mountains  rise,  their  sides  breasting  the 
tempest,  their  tops  enshrouded  with  fog  which 


4  SHAMROCK-LAND 

clings  to  the  layer  of  wet  snow.  And  think  of 
the  bleak  winters  of  this  far  northern  land, 
with  short  gray  days  and  long,  long  nights  of 
gloom. 

Then  think  of  him  and  of  her  who  dwell 
within  that  stocky  gray  hut  of  stone  at  the  base 
of  the  cliff  or  in  a  hollow  on  the  mountain  side, 
bending  low  over  the  peat-fire,  dreaming  and 
crooning  to  the  sound  of  the  storm  which  howls 
around  the  eaves  of  thatch  or  dashes  in  gusts 
down  the  chimney  and  scatters  the  turf-embers 
about  the  hearth.  And  when  at  last  the  gray 
dawn  comes,  see  them  go  quietly  out  and  stand 
on  the  rocky  hillside  and  gaze  across  the  check- 
ered wind-swept  fields. 

Ah!  what  wonder  that  a  soul,  dwelling  thus 
in  the  shadow  of  storm,  should  drink  in  some- 
thing of  its  strife,  and  take  unto  itself  a  portion 
of  its  energy  and  unrest!  And  who  but  can 
see,  as  an  Irishman  has  recently  pointed  out, 
that  the  sons  who  have  drunken  terror  and 
hatred  of  the  sea  with  their  mother's  milk  should 
have  gotten  into  their  blood  "some  of  its  salt 
bitterness,  its  mystery  and  melancholy,"  and 
that  the  race  upon  the  shore,  though  with  sun- 
shine hidden  in  the  heart,  should  wear  ever  a 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  5 

quiver  upon  the  lip,  and  dwell  always  upon  the 
very  borderland  of  tears  ? 

We  passed  Glandore  Harbor  and  Ross  Car- 
bery  Bay,  and  old  Galley  Head,  dripping  and 
damp.  Then  came  Clonakilty,  and  Seven  Heads 
and  Courtmacsherry  Bay,  and  the  Old  Head 
of  Kinsale,  with  lights  ablaze,  projecting  far 
out  into  the  waves.  Then  the  signals  from  our 
ship,  —  red  and  blue  and  green,  —  and  rapidly 
passing  lights  upon  the  shore.  An  old  Irish- 
man, square-jawed,  black-haired,  blue-eyed, 
stood  for  a  long  time  with  his  hand  upon  the 
rail  weeping  silently.  His  boyhood  had  been 
spent  upon  one  of  those  rocky  hillsides  in  the 
distance,  under  whose  stones  lay  buried  the 
bones  of  the  old  ones  he  had  long  ago  parted 
from  at  the  lowly  cabin  door.  He  had  come 
back  at  last  to  gather  a  sprig  of  shamrock  from 
their  graves. 

We  sailed  along  the  coast  whose  giant  cliffs 
reeked  with  greenness.  Sometimes  far  in  the 
distance,  along  some  mountain  slope,  we  saw 
white  stone  cottages  sprinkled  about;  and  as 
we  passed  nearer  we  could  discern  through  the 
fog  a  network  of  gray  stone  fences  which  check- 
ered the  smooth  grassy  hills,  dividing  pasture 


6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

from  pasture,  and  separating  sheepwalk  from 
sheepwalk.  At  nine  o'clock  the  Irish  twiHght 
gave  way  to  darkness  filled  with  fog  and  rain. 

At  midnight  we  reached  the  mouth  of  Queens- 
town  Harbor.  A  tender  came  alongside  our 
vessel,  lashed  to  her  sides,  and  began  to  take 
on  the  passengers  and  the  mail.  The  first  genu- 
ine product  of  Ireland  which  I  saw  at  close 
range  in  Irish  territory  was  an  old  man  with 
turned-up  coat  collar,  greasy  vest,  heavy  brogan 
shoes,  and  stove-in  derby  hat,  selling  pink  and 
green  newspapers  to  the  passengers  at  a  penny 
apiece.  When  he  first  stepped  upon  the  gang- 
plank he  commenced  vociferously  to  shout  his 
wares:  *'The  Cor-r-k  Examiner!  The  gra-a-te 
newspaper!  All  the  news  of  the  worruld!  Jist 
wan  pinny  apiece!"  He  had  come  in  so  sud- 
denly upon  us,  and  his  appearance  was  so  lu- 
dicrous that  it  seemed  but  natural  he  should 
have  aroused  all  the  pent-up  facetiousness  of  a 
shipload  of  people.  They  plied  him  with  all 
kinds  of  foolish  questions,  off^ered  absurd  trades, 
and  made  him  the  butt  of  innumerable  jokes 
and  jests.  But  he  was  used,  it  seemed,  to  such 
experiences.  With  a  smile  upon  his  face  that 
increased  into  a  chuckle,  then  into  a  roar,  as  he 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  7 

jostled  those  in  his  way,  he  scored  every  point 
against  a  shipful  of  antagonists.  In  measuring 
wit  against  this  old  son  of  Erin  one  might  as 
well  have  been  opposing  Gibraltar  with  a  blun- 
derbuss. Blackguarding  and  bantering  was  his 
profession,  newspaper  selling  only  a  pleasant 
avocation. 

We  steamed  five  miles  north  into  Queenstown 
Harbor,  our  course  for  some  distance  being 
almost  overhung  with  hills  that  seemed  to  show 
a  touch  of  greenness  in  the  semi-darkness.  One 
old  Irishman  on  board,  coming  back  to  the 
mother  country  on  a  visit  after  a  residence  of 
thirty  years  in  the  United  States,  was  fired  with 
enthusiasm  at  the  sight  of  the  old  hills.  The 
Yankee  twang  left  him.  Every  sentence  he 
uttered  was  in  the  richest  Kilkenny  brogue. 
Pointing  proudly  to  the  hills  on  each  side  of  the 
rapidly-moving  little  tender,  he  said  between 
his  teeth:  "There's  enough  cannon  under  them 
hills  to  blow  ye  all  to  flinders!  We  could  sink 
ivery  ship  in  th*  Yankee  navy  into  Davy  Jones' 
locker  in  tin  minutes  by  th'  clock.  Glory  be 
to  God!" 

A  priest  was  standing  by  in  the  darkness  and 
heard  the  remark.     "Ah!  Dinnis,  and  did  ye 


8  SHAMROCK-LAND 

forget  the  ward  fight  in  Pittsburg  lahst  year  and 
ye  bearing  the  great  brass  American  eagle  in 
front  of  the  parade  ?  Blow  the  Yankees  to 
flinders,  is  it?  Ah!  Dinnis!  Dinnis!"  The  old 
fellow  grinned  and  turned  shamefacedly  away, 
but  there  were  those  in  the  crowd  who  found 
it  easy  to  forgive  him  for  thus  forgetting  himself 
in  the  shadow  of  the  old  home  hills. 

When  we  disembarked  from  the  little  steamer 
a  curious  crowd  of  men  and  boys,  packed  closely 
about  the  gang-plank,  eyed  us  with  unending 
curiosity.  But  their  mute  inquisitiveness  wa? 
returned  in  kind  by  one  member  of  our  party  at 
least,  for  they  could  not  have  given  the  Ameri- 
cans a  more  careful  scrutiny  than  I  gave  them. 
They  were  proper  objects  of  study.  Before 
going  into  the  custom  house  I  made  it  a  point  to 
go  up  and  engage  in  conversation  with  a  rather 
strangely  dressed  youth  of  eighteen  or  twenty 
years  of  age.  The  light  of  his  piercing  gray  eye 
and  the  round  rich  brogue  remained  with  more 
vividness  in  my  memory  than  any  other  impres- 
sion of  the  night.  He  was  versed  in  everything 
of  local  import,  and  he  imparted  information 
with  lightning-like  rapidity. 

In  the  custom  house  the  usual  formalities  were 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  9 

observed.  The  officers,  though  stoUd  and  me- 
chanical in  the  discharge  of  their  duties,  pos- 
sessed that  one  characteristic  of  the  Irish  public 
servant  —  kindness. 

Down  an  ancient  street,  facing  the  water, 
flickering  lights  revealed  the  door  of  a  hostelry. 
Assigned  a  room  by  a  woman  clerk,  and  led 
circuitously  thereto  by  a  porter  in  livery,  I  was 
soon  buried  in  a  wilderness  of  feathers  and  lost 
in  downy  dreams. 

The  white  sunshine,  filtering  through  the 
branches  of  a  gnarled  old  elm-tree  and  falKng 
across  the  window-sill  upon  the  wall  at  my  head, 
awakened  me  to  the  fact  that  it  was  morning  in 
Ireland!  While  dressing  I  looked  out  of  the 
window  into  a  little  court  or  yard  enclosed  with 
a  great  stone  wall,  gray  with  age,  and  surmounted 
with  pickets  of  rusting  iron.  A  cat  with  two 
kittens  played  in  the  sunshine,  and  a  string  of 
geese  filed  slowly  past  the  iron  gate.  A  little 
cart,  drawn  by  a  brown  donkey,  and  driven  by  a 
boy  with  breeches  extending  half-way  from  his 
knees  to  his  ankles,  went  slowly  up  a  sunny 
lane.  In  the  far  distance  I  heard  the  hoarse 
whistles  of  steamers,  and  nearer  at  hand  the  sub- 
dued sound  of  movement  in  the  streets  outside. 


10  SHAMROCK-LAND 

In  the  dining-room  a  waiter  with  a  quizzical 
Hibernian  face  served  me  with  a  pot  of  hot 
cocoa  and  mutton  chops.  Then  I  went  out 
into  the  street.  The  day  was  clear  and  warm. 
The  rich  June  sunshine  streamed  down  upon 
the  harbor  shut  in  with  smooth  green  hills. 
Sails  glistened  in  the  distance.  The  whole 
wide  landscape  dazzled  one  with  its  richness 
and  splendor.  White  roads  wound  up  the  slop- 
ing hills  in  the  distance.  Old  castles,  gray  with 
age,  lay  half  buried  in  the  rich  shade  of  trees 
gnarled  and  bent  with  age. 

Queenstown  is  built  upon  the  hillside  in  ter- 
races, its  buildings  gleaming  like  variegated 
porcelain  in  full  exposure  to  the  southern  sun. 
The  harbor  is  naturally  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful in  the  world,  and  the  surroundings  are  rich 
with  history  extending  back  to  the  earliest  dawn 
of  Celtic  life.  The  town  itself  was  known  as 
*'The  Cove  of  Cork"  until  1849,  when  its  name 
was  changed  to  Queenstown  in  honor  of  a  visit 
paid  it  in  that  year  by  the  Queen.  Its  popula- 
tion is  said  to  be  about  twelve  thousand.  I  was 
told  that  the  immediate  town  is  not  an  ancient 
one,  as  towns  go  in  Ireland,  but  it  presents  an 
ancient    appearance    to    a  traveler  fresh    from 


o 


c 


c 


y 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  n 

the  west.  John  Wesley  either  visited  or  passed 
through  Queenstown,  or  Cove,  in  1752,  and  he 
recorded  that  "there  was  nothing  to  be  bought 
there  —  neither  flesh,  nor  fish,  nor  butter,  nor 
cheese,  so  I  was  obliged  to  be  well  contented 
with  some  eggs  and  bread."  But  since  his 
day  a  substantial  little  city  with  every  modern 
convenience  for  the  traveler  has  been  built. 
Though  many  ancient  castles  and  forts  adorned 
the  hills  centuries  before  this  time,  the  town 
itself  is  a  product  of  the  activities  first  in- 
duced by  the  American  Revolution,  and  con- 
tinued by  the  departure  of  the  emigrant  vessels 
which  for  the  past  three-quarters  of  a  century 
have  been  draining  the  richest  life-blood  from 
Ireland.  Emigration  from  Ireland  received  its 
first  great  impetus  at  the  time  of  the  potato 
famine  in  central,  southern,  and  western  Ireland, 
about  1846,  and  has  continued  to  this  day. 
Two  or  three  times  a  week  vessels  sail  away 
from  Cork  Harbor,  bearing  the  best  of  what  is 
left  in  the  old  island  after  six  decades  of  unre- 
mitting exodus.  The  population  of  the  island 
has  been  reduced  from  more  than  eight  million 
in  1845  to  a  little  over  four  million  in  1901,  the 
time  of  the  last  census.     Throughout  Ireland 


12  SHAMROCK-LAND 

those  who  are  left  behind  speak  of  Queenstown 
with  subdued  voices  and  sighs.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  there  are  not  a  dozen  famihes  in  the 
island  who  have  not  at  some  time  lost  a  brother 
or  a  sister  or  a  child  or  a  relative  or  a  friend 
through  this  port  of  tears. 

I  walked  about  the  little  city  and  observed 
its  strange  sights.  The  houses  were  stoHd  and 
squatty  and  strong,  built  of  stone  or  stucco, 
and,  outside  of  the  immediate  town,  were  covered 
with  straw  or  thatch.  The  trees  even  were 
gnarled,  and  bent,  and  old,  and  furnished  the 
densest  shade.  The  grass,  luscious  and  flourish- 
ing, covered  every  portion  of  the  land,  except 
the  bare  rocks,  with  a  smooth  and  velvety  green. 

I  wondered  as  I  strolled  along,  immersed  as  I 
was  in  a  whirlpool  of  unusualness,  whether 
traveler  ever  entered  a  strange  land  with  the 
curiosity  and  interest  with  which  I  entered  Ire- 
land. Every  rook  that  croaked  and  cawed  from 
beetHng  chimney-top  engaged  my  attention;  and 
every  ragged  boy  on  his  way  to  school  was  a 
source  of  unending  wonder  and  amusement. 

Upon  the  corner  of  a  street  I  saw  my  first 
jaunting-car.  It  was  a  two-wheeled  vehicle, 
with  a  seat  for  the  driver  in  the  front  and  two 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  13 

other  seats,  back  to  back,  with  footboards  hung 
over  the  wheels,  for  passengers.  When  there  is 
but  one  passenger  the  driver  sits  over  the  oppo- 
site wheel  to  balance  him.  The  driver  of  the 
car  which  stood  before  me  came  up  and  en- 
gaged me  in  conversation,  and  suggested  that 
I  take  a  ''dhrive"  with  him.  I  allowed  him  to 
argue  his  case  at  full  length,  now  and  then 
putting  in  a  word  to  get  him  more  thoroughly 
into  his  subject.  He  told  me  of  the  many 
sights  which  were  to  be  seen  around  the  harbor. 
There  were  ancient  castles  along  the  way  that 
fairly  reeked  with  the  history  of  bloodshed  and 
cruelty  in  early  feudal  days.  And  there  were 
stones  and  crosses  that  had  been  erected  at  a 
time  when  Ireland  was  covered  with  woods  and 
harassed  with  wild  animals.  Down  at  the 
eastern  end  of  the  harbor  was  Rostellan  Castle, 
the  ancient  home  of  the  O'Briens,  and  near  by 
the  site  of  the  castle  of  the  Fitzgeralds,  the  an- 
cient seneschals  of  Imokilly.  Here  also  was  to 
be  found  a  "cromlech,"  or  collection  of  crudely- 
shapen  rough  stones  upon  which  the  Druids  are 
supposed  to  have  sacrificed  human  victims.  And 
at  Castle  Mary,  near  by,  was  another  cromxlech 
of  "grate  beauty."     Would  I  care  to  see  these 


14  SHAMROCK-LAND 

things  ?  Over  there  south  of  us  near  old  Agha- 
marta  Castle  was  Drake's  Pool,  which  sheltered 
Sir  Francis  Drake  "long  years  ago,"  when  he 
was  pursued  by  the  cruel  Spaniards.  And  up  at 
Black  Rock  Castle  on  the  River  Lee,  William 
Penn  embarked  for  America.  Ah!  I  should  stay 
at  Queenstown  a  long  time  and  take  a  ride  on  a 
jaunting-"  cyar"  every  day.  Down  at  Cloyne, 
three  miles  east  of  the  harbor  was  an  *'ould, 
ould  village  strate,"  upon  which  was  a  cathedral 
built  in  the  thirteenth  ''cintury,"  and  a  round 
tower,  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  built  so  long 
ago  that  no  one  knew  what  it  was  built  for  any- 
way. And  oh!  there  was  the  grave  of  Rev. 
Charles  Wolfe,  the  author  of  "The  Burial  of 
Sir  John  Moore,"  lying  up  there  "jist  over  th* 
hill  in  th*  burial-ground  of  the  ould  ruined 
chur-rch  of  Clonmel."  Had  I  not  read  the 
poem, 

"  Not  a  dhrum  was  hearrud,  not  a  funeral  note  "  ? 

Other  jaunting-car  drivers  came  up,  each 
seeking  with  his  eloquence  to  persuade  me  to 
go  for  a  drive.  "Jist  look  at  this  hor-r-se!" 
said  one  of  them.  "Ah!"  said  another,  "the 
cyar-springs  is  what  counts."     His  "cyar"  was 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  15 

as  smooth  as  an  "owtomobile."  It  was  rather 
painful  to  have  to  make  a  selection  from  this 
list  of  contestants  and  to  see  the  look  of  dis- 
appointment upon  the  faces  of  those  who  were 
rejected,  but  after  I  had  made  up  my  mind  one 
of  the  disappointed  ones  took  me  aside  and  said, 
**I  feel  sorry  for  ye,  sorry  indade.  I  hope  ye'll 
get  back  home  aloive.  Jist  think  of  it!  But 
misshtakes  will  occur.  Hiven  help  you,  sir, 
Hiven  help  you!" 

One  cannot  forget  the  enchantment  of  a  trip 
on  a  swiftly-moving  jaunting-car  around  Cork 
Harbor.  A  tender  beauty  hangs  over  the  whole 
wide  expanse  of  earth  and  sea ;  and  the  thoughts 
that  come  to  one  as,  flying  over  the  white  roads, 
he  feels  in  his  face  the  fresh  winds  from  the 
ocean,  and  looks  upon  white  sail,  dank  meadow, 
thatched  cottage,  and  crumbling  castle  wall,  can- 
not in  human  language  be  explained  or  expressed. 

When  leaving  Queenstown,  I  determined  to  go 
to  Cork  by  train  rather  than  by  boat  up  the  river 
Lee.  When  I  reported  at  my  hotel  to  make  a 
settlement  I  found  that  my  luggage  had  already 
been  taken  to  the  station  with  that  of  some  ship 
acquaintances  of  mine  who  were  leaving  for 
Cork.     The  hotel  people  had  thought  that  I  was 


i6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

a  member  of  the  party.  I  had  not  a  moment  to 
spare,  so  I  rushed  into  the  station  and  called 
for  a  ticket  to  Cork.  "What  clahss?"  asked 
the  ticket  agent.  While  I  was  trying  to  deter- 
mine what  I  wanted  an  official  standing  by  told 
me  that  my  friends  had  purchased  second-class 
tickets  and  had  gone  through  the  gates.  I  also 
bought  a  second-class  ticket  and  hurried  into 
the  sheds  where  I  found  a  boy  with  my  baggage 
standing  at  the  door  of  a  compartment  in  a 
little  railway  coach  where  my  acquaintances 
had  already  seated  themselves.  They  had  per- 
suaded the  train  officials  to  hold  the  train  fully 
live  minutes  for  me!  Such  things  can  occur 
only  in  Ireland  where  system  always  gives  way 
to  courtesy  and  kindness. 

I  was  locked  into  a  compartment  with  a  Balti- 
more man,  two  American  (former  Irish)  Catholic 
priests,  and  a  young  Irish  girl  with  blue  eyes, 
bright  face,  and  coal-black  hair.  The  priests 
were  on  a  summer  visit  to  the  old  home,  the 
Baltimore  man  was  getting  a  glimpse  of  Ireland 
on  his  way  to  Liverpool,  and  the  young  girl  was 
going  with  her  basket  to  Cork.  I  watched  the 
expression  of  this  typical  Celtic  face  as  we 
talked  of  America  and   drew  comparisons.     I 


< 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  17 

afterwards  thought  that  perhaps  the  intense  in- 
terest which  she  betrayed  in  what  we  said  about 
America  was  due  to  some  hidden  hope  in  her 
heart  that  some  day  she  too  might  go  down  to 
the  ship  and  follow  the  thousands  she  had  seen 
depart  for  homes  beyond  the  Atlantic. 

In  Ireland  one  may  travel  first,  second,  or 
third  class,  as  he  may  elect.  The  first  class 
charges  are  about  the  Pullman  rates  in  the 
United  States,  the  second  class  a  little  less  than 
our  regular  rates,  and  third  class  considerably 
less.  If  one  wishes  to  be  alone  when  in  Ire- 
land he  should  travel  first  class.  If  he  wishes 
to  see  Ireland  and  the  Irish  people  as  they  are 
he  should  travel  second  and  sometimes  even 
third  class.  What  he  sees  and  hears  in  third 
class  carriages  will  more  than  repay  him  for  the 
discomforts  of  the  ride.  In  England  the  vast 
majority  of  the  people  travel  third  class.  In 
Ireland  and  in  France,  if  one  is  looking  simply 
for  comfort,  he  should  not  travel  that  way. 

Soon  after  our  httle  train  had  squealed  in 
announcing  its  departure  from  Queenstown  we 
were  out  in  the  green  fields  speeding  northwest- 
ward towards  the  city  of  Cork.  A  rich  country 
lay  about  us.     The  fields  did  not  appear  to  have 


1 8  SHAMROCK-LAND 

that  intensive  cultivation  which  one  sees  in 
England,  or  France,  or  Holland,  except  in  small 
garden  patches  here  and  there,  but  there  was 
luxuriancy  visible  everywhere.  The  meadows 
and  pastures  were  exquisite  with  their  thick, 
black-green  growth  of  hay  and  grass.  The  fat- 
test of  cattle  and  sheep  grazed  on  the  sloping 
hillsides.  Wild  flowers  bloomed  along  the  roads 
and  about  the  little  village  greens;  old  stone 
walls  enclosed  every  white  limestone  road,  and 
divided  every  hillside  into  little  lots  and  fields. 
Now  and  then  some  old  building,  a  landmark, 
hoary  with  age,  came  into  view;  and  we  often 
caught  glimpses  of  the  river  Lee,  gleaming 
through  some  dense  grove,  and  flashing  back 
the  rays  of  the  June  sun.  Old  Black  Rock 
Castle,  in  smooth  gray  stone,  hung  over  the 
river,  standing  waist-deep  in  its  waves.  And 
along  the  banks  were  stone  walls  and  smooth 
white  roads. 

We  passed  solidly  built  cottages,  or  cabins, 
of  the  peasantry,  all  of  stone  or  a  kind  of  mud 
or  stucco,  whitewashed,  without  porches  or 
verandahs,  with  roofs  of  straw  or  thatch  from 
six  inches  to  a  foot  in  thickness.  Around  the 
primitive  doorways,  worn  smooth  with  the  patter 


Round  Tower  and   Village  Street  in  Cloyne,  near  Cork   Harbor. 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  19 

of  little  Irish  feet,  were  goats  and  pigs  and 
chickens,  and  sometimes  long  strings  of  geese. 
These  sights  flew  by  us  in  bewildering  con- 
fusion all  along  the  course  of  the  twelve 
delightful  miles  between  Queenstown  and 
Cork. 

Upon  our  arrival  in  Cork  I  hastened  out  of 
the  little  train  and  looked  about  me.  The  first 
thing  that  I  saw  was  a  railway  freight  yard 
filled  with  numberless  little  black  freight  cars, 
standing  upon  spoked  wheels,  without  roofs, 
capacity  from  seven  to  nine  tons,  a  type  of  the 
freight  car  that  does  the  business  of  the  British 
Isles. 

I  sat  beside  the  driver  of  the  'bus  as  we  drove 
into  the  city.  He  pointed  out  to  me  the  prin- 
cipal buildings  as  we  passed  them,  and  talked 
volubly  upon  such  things  as  were  connected 
with  the  history  of  the  old  Ireland.  We  passed 
up  King  Street,  thence  along  St.  Patrick's  quay 
until  we  came  to  St.  Patrick's  bridge  just  south 
of  St.  Patrick's  Place  and  at  the  foot  of  St. 
Patrick's  hill;  after  crossing  St.  Patrick's  bridge 
we  drove  into  St.  Patrick's  Street,  the  leading 
thoroughfare  of  the  city,  and  halted  in  front  of 
the  hotel  —  by  some  outrageous  and  sacrilegious 


20  SHAMROCK-LAND 

blunder  called  something  else  instead  of  "St. 
Patrick's." 

St.  Patrick  has  a  strong  hold  upon  Ireland. 
It  would  indeed  be  interesting  to  know  just  how 
many  churches,  chapels,  cathedrals,  streets, 
bridges,  schools,  friaries,  chantries,  orphanages, 
convents,  priories,  parks,  monasteries,  driveways, 
and  reformatories,  scattered  over  the  country 
from  Kerry  to  the  Giant's  Causeway,  bear  to- 
day the  name  of  Ireland's  patron  saint. 

But  perhaps  St.  Patrick  has  a  good  claim  to 
the  affections  of  the  Irish  people.  He  it  was 
who  gave  them  their  religion  and  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  a  church  life  which  for  the  undying 
loyalty  of  its  constituents  has  had  no  parallel 
in  history. 

The  early  history  of  Ireland,  known  to  the 
Romans  as  Hibernia,  is  buried  in  obscurity. 
The  ancient  Hibernians  were  a  mixed  race,  but 
prevailingly  Celtic.  Among  the  few  things  that 
the  modern  historian  knows  about  these  people 
is  that  they  were  divided  into  tribes  ruled 
by  petty  tyrants,  proud,  rapacious,  and  war- 
like, who  kept  the  island  in  perpetual  strife. 
Their  religion  was  that  of  the  Druids,  with 
human    sacrifices,    the    ruins   of    whose    altars 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  21 

may  be  found  in  many  parts  of  the  island 
to-day. 

Patrick,  or  Patricius,  most  probably  a  native 
of  Scotland,  or  of  Gaul,  was  captured  about  the 
year  430  a.d.,  and  taken  to  Ireland  where  he 
was  sold  as  a  slave.  Here  he  served  his  master 
for  six  years  as  a  shepherd,  and  learned  to  love 
the  Irish  people.  Escaping  from  the  country, 
he  fled  into  France  or  England  and  became  a 
hard  student  for  several  years.  About  the  year 
440  he  returned  to  Ireland  and  labored  as  a 
missionary  of  Christianity  until  March  17,  493, 
when  he  died  and  was  buried  at  Downpatrick, 
or  Gabhul,  as  it  was  sometimes  called,  an  an- 
cient town  in  county  Down,  twenty-six  miles 
south  of  the  modern  commercial  city  of  Belfast. 
Here  he  had  held  his  first  mission,  gained  his 
first  converts,  and  spent  his  declining  years. 
But  his  missionary  journeys  had  extended  to  the 
remotest  portions  of  the  island,  and  his  con- 
verts had  been  taken  from  the  most  warlike 
tribes. 

A  vast  mass  of  tradition  has  grown  up  during 
the  course  of  the  centuries  around  the  name  of 
St.  Patrick,  much  of  which  is  interesting  as  folk- 
lore  though   vague   and   unrehable   as   history. 


22  SHAMROCK-LAND 

There  are  those  to-day  who  are  actually  be- 
ginning to  doubt  the  reality  of  that  great  achieve- 
ment ascribed  to  him,  and  expressed  so  forcibly 
in  the  old  Irish  song: 

"Upon  the  top  of  a  tall  green  hill 
St.  Patrick  preached  a  sarmint. 
He  drove  the  frogs  into  the  bogs,  • 

And  banished  all  the  varmint!" 

But  no  one  doubts  that  Patrick  has  an  abiding 
place  in  history,  and  that  he  was  a  man  of  lofty 
character  and  untiring  zeal.  At  his  death  he 
left  Ireland  so  strongly  rooted  in  the  Christian 
faith  that  for  many  centuries  the  island  was  the 
center  of  Christian  learning  and  piety  for  all 
western  Europe.  It  is  scarcely  a  wonder  that 
the  Irish  people,  of  that  intense,  emotional 
Cehic  temperament,  should  have  become  at- 
tached to  the  memory  of  a  man  who  turned  their 
ancestors  from  Druidism  to  Christianity. 

Returning  to  our  hotel  in  the  heart  of  Cork, 
on  Patrick  Street:  I  went  in  and  registered,  or, 
at  least,  the  young  lady  "dark"  according  to 
custom,  took  my  name  and  asked  me  some 
questions  as  to  my  wants.  She  then  handed  me 
a  card  containing  the  number  of  my  room  and 
delivered  to  me  a  key  of  the  St.  Patrick  pattern, 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  23 

made  of  iron,  a  fac-simile  of  the  kind  our 
Colonial  great-grandmothers  used  to  lock  their 
smoke-houses  with  a  century  and  a  half  ago. 
There  was  no  tag  attached  to  the  key  for  its 
identification  in  case  it  should  be  carried  off 
and  lost,  but  I  thought  perhaps  the  pretty 
young  "dark"  felt  there  was  httle  danger  of 
this  since  I  had  no  wheelbarrow  with  my  lug- 
gage. 

The  porter  grasped  a  piece  of  my  baggage  in 
each  hand  and  beckoned  me  to  follow  him. 
There  was  no  elevator,  or  "hft,"  as  they  call  it, 
in  the  hotel,  so  we  passed  around  through  a 
moldy  passageway,  went  up  a  long  and  tortu- 
ous flight  of  steps,  then  across  the  hall,  then 
down  a  short  flight  of  steps,  then  around  a  corner, 
then  a  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  and  three  steps  up, 
and  behold!  we  had  reached  our  destination. 
Such  is  Ireland! 

I  was  told  some  time  after  this  when  sojourn- 
ing in  Dubhn  that  the  hotel  at  which  I  stopped 
while  in  Cork  was  not  the  best  one  in  the  city. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  the  statement  was  true, 
though  I  did  not  know  it  at  the  time.  But  I 
did  not  go  to  Ireland  to  enjoy  luxuries,  but 
rather  to  live  for  a  while  the  actual  life  of  the 


24  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Irish  people.  This  hotel  certainly  afforded  me 
the  means  for  doing  that. 

There  are  some  excellent  hotels  in  Ireland. 
Dublin,  Belfast,  and  all  the  more  prominent 
tourist  resorts  are  provided  with  hostelries  con- 
taining all  modern  conveniences  and  comforts. 
But  in  the  Irish  country-town  hotel  there  are 
few  modern  conveniences.  Bath  rooms  are  few 
and  primitive  beyond  belief.  Many  of  the 
smaller  hotels  are  lighted  with  oil  lamps  or  even 
with  the  old-fashioned  tallow  candles.  One 
finds  it  difficult  to  have  a  fire  kindled  in  one's 
room,  though  it  is  often  as  cold  and  damp  in 
Ireland  in  midsummer  as  it  is  in  our  country  in 
April  and  November. 

And  naturally  the  service  is  slow.  When  the 
young  lady  clerk  sends  the  porter  to  your  room 
for  information  as  to  what  you  wish  for  break- 
fast, you  send  word  back  that  you  would  like  to 
have  a  steak,  some  Irish  bacon,  potatoes,  scram- 
bled eggs  on  toast,  and  cocoa.  Then  you  wash, 
shave  yourself  (for  there  are  few  barbers  in  Ire- 
land), dress  in  a  leisurely  manner,  find  your 
way  down  through  labyrinthian  windings  to  the 
street  level,  take  a  walk  about  town,  make  some 
purchases  of  souvenirs,  talk  with  country  peas- 


FIRST   GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND  25 

ants  upon  the  street  corners,  come  back  to  the 
hotel  office,  write  a  letter  or  two,  send  off  a  batch 
of  souvenir  post-cards,  then  repair  to  the  dining- 
room  and  open  the  morning  newspaper  and  be- 
gin to  search  therein  for  news.  Continue  this 
search  long  enough  and  the  good-natured  waiter 
will  break  into  your  labors  with  as  good  a  break- 
fast as  any  one  could  wish.  The  Irish  pride 
themselves  upon  their  mutton,  beef,  and  butter. 
And  all  kinds  of  fowl  may  be  had  for  a  pittance. 
There  will  be  no  pies  upon  the  table,  for  the 
Irish  people  do  not  care  greatly  for  "sweets," 
but  no  breakfast  table  is  complete  without  a 
big  bowl  of  bitter  orange  marmalade,  an  excel- 
lent appetizer  and  digestant. 

I  strolled  about  the  streets  of  the  old  city  of 
Cork  throughout  the  first  evening  of  my  arrival 
there.  To  one  who  is  accustomed  to  American 
cities  with  their  newness  and  bustle,  Cork  pre- 
sents an  ancient  and  time-worn  appearance. 
The  goods  in  the  shops  are  pecuHarly  arranged, 
and  the  windows  are  strangely  dressed.  Every- 
thing savors  of  the  long  distant  past. 

I  met  a  ragged  boy  selling  pink  newspapers. 
I  bought  one  and  eagerly  searched  its  pages 
for  some  bit  of  American  news.     But  I  was  dis- 


26  SHAMROCK-LAND 

appointed.  The  newspapers  of  Cork,  though 
fairly  good  as  Irish  newspapers  go,  are  rather 
gloomy  sheets,  the  quality  of  paper  being  poor 
and  the  print  bad.  And  they  are  unusually 
bare  of  news.  The  first  page  of  the  paper, 
where  display  heads  are  wont  to  be  made  in 
American  papers,  contains  nothing  but  long, 
legal  notices,  verbatim  political  and  parliamen- 
tary speeches  and  some  unattractive  advertise- 
ments. The  "news"  is  at  length  discovered 
hidden  away  under  one-line  heads  in  the  middle 
of  the  paper.  There  are  no  display  heads  of 
any  kind,  not  even  over  the  most  important 
news,  and,  with  the  exception  of  minute  ac- 
counts of  deaths,  funerals,  wakes  and  "League" 
meetings,  local  happenings  appear  to  be  dis- 
regarded. The  Irish  press  at  this  time,  in  me- 
chanical make-up  and  in  the  treatment  of  news, 
is  about  where  the  American  press  was  six  or 
seven  decades  ago.  One  can  easily  verify  this 
by  comparing  the  average  newspaper  of  Cork, 
Limerick,  or  Dublin  with  the  files  of  American 
newspapers  to  be  found  in  any  well-equipped 
public  library.  An  Irishman  will  tell  you  that 
what  we  might  term  the  primitive  appearance 
of  the  Irish  newspaper  is  due  to  the  conserva- 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND 


27 


tism  of  the  Irish  people.  This  to  a  certain 
extent  is  true;  for  however  dull  the  Irish  news- 
paper may  be,  it  is  entirely  free  from  a  certain 
kind  of  sensationalism  which  is  one  of  the 
gravest  defects  of  the  average  American  news- 
paper. 

There  are  barracks  in  Cork  where  large  num- 
bers of  soldiers  are  stationed.  These  men  in 
uniform  may  be  seen  at  all  hours  of  the  day, 
singly,  in  pairs,  or  in  groups,  walking  upon  the 
streets,  smoking,  chatting  with  each  other,  and 
ogling  the  girls  who  may  generally  be  found  in 
large  numbers  somewhere  along  the  soldiers' 
usual  route.  Many  of  the  soldiers  belong  to 
Scotch  regiments,  and  right  proudly  do  they 
wear  their  kilts  and  plaids,  with  bare  knees 
made  black  by  the  rough  Irish  weather. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  I  re- 
turned to  the  hotel,  but  it  was  still  light.  Cork, 
in  Southern  Ireland,  is  situated  near  the  52d 
parallel  on  a  latitude  with  the  southern  portion 
of  bleak  Labrador  in  North  America.  The  lati- 
tude of  the  Giant's  Causeway,  in  North  Ireland, 
is  the  same  as  that  of  Southern  Alaska.  In 
midsummer  the  nights  in  Ireland  are  so  short 
that  the  flush  of  evening  has  hardly  faded  from 


28  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  western  sky  before  the  morning  light  begins 
to  steal  into  the  east.  In  the  misty  twilight  I 
saw  a  steamer  acquaintance,  standing  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  looking  up  St.  Patrick's 
Street  toward  America,  the  very  picture  of 
abject  lonesomeness  and  homesickness.  As  I 
walked  up  he  turned  to  me  and  said:  "Old 
friend,  I  have  been  waiting  here  three  hours  for 
night  to  come.  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  I  know 
all  this  is  picturesque  enough,  and  all  that,  but, 
well  —  Baltimore  for  me!" 

After  I  had  retired  to  my  little  stuffy  room 
and  blown  out  the  light  I  heard  a  brass  band 
pass  down  the  street  with  clatter  and  cry.  It 
was  the  winding  up  of  some  big  holiday  athletic 
event.  And  after  the  streets  had  become  quiet 
I  thought  I  heard  the  strains  of  some  gentler 
music.  I  crept  to  my  window  and  listened. 
Far  away,  somewhere  out  in  the  darkness,  some 
one  was  strumming  a  guitar,  and  now  and  then 
I  heard  snatches  of  a  song  which  a  clear  Irish 
voice  was  singing: 

"When  first  I  saw  sweet  Peggy, 
'Twas  on  a  market  day; 
A  low-back  car  she  drove,  and  sat 
Upon  a  truss  of  hay; 


FIRST    GLIMPSES    OF    IRELAND 

And  when  that  hay  was  blooming  grass. 
And  filled  with  flowers  of  spring, 

No  flower  was  there  that  could  compare 
With  the  blooming  girl  I  sing." 


29 


CHAPTER   II 

OLD    CORK    AND    THE    CASTLE    OF    BLARNEY 

When  I  arose  from  the  breakfast  table  I  was 
informed  that  a  jaunting-car  awaited  me  at  the 
hotel  door.  Equipped  with  camera  and  rain- 
coat (the  two  indispensables  in  Ireland)  I  took 
my  seat  over  a  wheel  opposite  the  typical  Hiber- 
nian who  had  agreed  to  drive  me  out  to  Blarney 
where  I  might  see  the  ancient  castle  and  kiss,  if 
I  wished,  the  Blarney  Stone. 

We  started  off  with  a  brisk  trot  down  the  old 
city's  street.  All  about  us  was  Ireland.  Even 
here  in  the  heart  of  Cork  one  could  see  those 
marks  which  distinguish  the  Isle  of  Erin  from 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Jaunting-cars  moved 
hither  and  thither  through  the  busy  morning 
crowd ;  stout  old  women  with  short  skirts,  heavy 
shoes,  and  somber  black  shawls  drawn  over  their 
heads,  stood  in  and  about  the  alley  entrances; 
ragged,  barefoot  boys  shouted  green-tinted  news- 
papers at  **a  pinny  apiece";  and  little  low-back 

donkey-cars  from  far  out  in  the  country,  loaded 

30 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY 


31 


down  with  peat-turf,  or  butter,  or  gooseberries, 
crawled  slowly  along  towards  the  market-place. 

Now  and  then  snatches  of  rich  Irish  brogue 
reached  me  where  I  sat  perched  upon  my 
jaunting-car.  The  faces  in  the  street  were  un- 
mistakably characteristic  of  Erin;  and  down  an 
alley  which  opened  upon  our  street  I  caught  a 
hurried  glimpse  of  children  playing  upon  the 
bare  cobble-stones,  with  here  and  there  a  lean 
cat  or  a  stray  dog  that  bore  his  share  of  the 
penuriousness  of  his  surroundings.  Even  the 
air  was  Irish;  and  the  whole  scene  about  us  was 
such  as  Hibernia  alone  can  furnish. 

Cork  is  a  city  which  delights  the  traveler's 
heart.  With  the  exception  of  Dublin,  the  capi- 
tal, there  is  no  other  Irish  city  which  so  fully 
reveals  the  marks  of  "the  old  Ireland."  Within 
it  and  about  it  are  the  evidences  of  centuries  of 
Celtic  life.  It  is  an  ancient  city.  Its  history 
extends  so  far  back  into  the  past  that  the  anti- 
quarian studying  its  beginnings  finds  his  chief 
diflficulty  in  separating  fact  from  legend,  truth 
from  a  veritable  wilderness  of  tradition  and  folk- 
lore which  has  grown  up  through  the  centuries. 

It  is  said,  however,  and  possibly  with  truth, 
that  good   St.    Finn   Barr,   monk  and   scholar, 


32 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


established  his  cell  in  a  little  mound  on  the  bank 
of  the  river  Lee  about  the  year  650  a.d.,  and 
that  to  him,  on  account  of  his  piety  and  learning, 
flocked  monks  from  every  part  of  the  newly 
awakened  Ireland  to  receive  instruction  at  his 
school.  Thus  a  settlement  was  made,  and  a 
city  grew  up.  For  some  centuries  its  history 
was  unmarked  with  event  of  interest  save  now 
and  then  a  bloody  raid  from  a  native  chieftain; 
but  records  show  that  along  in  the  eighth  and 
ninth  centuries  the  Danes,  who  in  those  transi- 
tional times  were  ubiquitous  in  western  Europe, 
frequently  sailed  up  the  river  Lee,  leaped  forth 
from  their  vessels  with  fire  and  sword,  plundered 
the  villagers  shamefully,  striking  down  such  as 
opposed  them,  and  as  hastily  disappeared,  taking 
with  them  vast  quantities  of  wool  and  butter  and 
other  Irish  products.  Gradually,  however,  these 
fierce  northerners  began  to  be  more  gentle  in 
their  dealings,  and  they  came  upon  fairer  terms. 
They  even  established  trading-places  along  the 
Lee,  as  they  had  done  in  other  parts  of  Ireland 
and  in  England;  and  at  length  they  became  so 
friendly  with  the  Irish  that  about  a  half  century 
before  the  Norman  Conquest,  or,  to  be  exact,  in 
the  year  1020,  they  laid  the  foundations  of  what 


CASTLE  OF  BLARNEY 


33 


they  determined  should  be  a  permanent  city  on 
a  rich  green  island  in  the  river  Lee  near  St.  Finn 
Barr's  old  settlement.  This  place  the  Celtic 
Erse-speaking  Irish  called  "Corcach,"  which 
literally  means  a  marshy  place.  Subsequently 
this  bisyllabic  guttural  was  Anglicized  into 
"  Cork,"  but  the  Gaelic  tongue  has  never 
accepted  the  change. 

The  city  grew  rapidly  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
was  for  many  centuries  as  well  known  to  con- 
tinental Europe  as  Dublin  or  Edinburgh.  It 
would  take  a  volume  to  tell  fully  of  its  checkered 
and  bloody  history.  Yet  we  find  Cork  at  the 
summit  of  its  prosperity  during  the  early  days 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Its  decline  in  popu- 
lation has  dated  from  the  great  exodus  from 
Ireland  which  began  in  the  forties.  In  1845  the 
population  of  Cork  and  environs  was  possibly 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand.  In  1861  there 
were  eighty  thousand  in  the  municipality.  The 
census  of  1901   shows  a  population  of  75,978. 

Still  there  is  much  bustle  in  an  Irish  way 
about  the  old  city,  and  as  a  seaport  it  still  ranks 
well  —  sending  forth  vast  quantities  of  fat  cattle, 
wool,  bacon,  and  Tipperary  butter  to  the  mar- 
kets of  England  and  the  continent.     It  also  has 


34  SHAMROCK-LAND 

many  churches,  certainly  one  first-class  institu- 
tion of  learning,  and  a  number  of  well-built 
commercial  streets  and  splendid  stone  quays. 

As  we  drove  along  the  old  streets  that  sunny 
June  morning  a  glamour  seemed  to  hang  over  the 
ancient  settlement.  Everything  seemed  to  tell 
of  the  things  of  the  long  ago.  Turning  here  and 
there,  we  at  length  crossed  a  bridge  into  that 
portion  of  the  city  north  of  the  river,  and  after 
a  few  more  turns  in  picturesque  lanes  we  arrived 
at  some  steep  steps  leading  up  from  the  street 
to  a  quiet,  melancholy-looking  graveyard  which 
surrounded  an  old  church  crowned  with  a  square 
black  tower  of  stone.  Tall  grass  and  wild 
flowers  grew  amid  the  graves.  Off  in  the  west, 
beyond  the  city's  limits,  lay  the  rich  valley  of 
the  river  Lee.  The  summer  breeze  which  blew 
in  our  faces  brought  us  the  odor  of  fresh  earth, 
blooming  wild-flowers,  and  new-mown  hay. 
The  church  was  old  St.  Anne's,  and  —  *'Hush, 
hush,"  said  my  driver,  **it  is  the  hour!  Listen 
to  the  Shandon  Bells!"  And  then  the  bells  in 
the  black  tower  began  their  strange,  gentle 
chimes.  So  perfectly  did  the  melancholy  music 
fit  in  with  the  beauty,  the  quiet,  and  the  summer 
bloom,  that  it  was  not  hard  to  see  how  their 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 


Mardvke  Walk  —  Cork. 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY 


35 


strains  might  have  inspired  an  Irishman  to  pro- 
duce one  of  the  sweetest  poems  of  English  Hter- 
ature.  My  driver  was  quiet  for  a  moment  after 
the  bells  had  ceased  to  chime,  and  when  he 
looked  up  there  was  a  tear  in  his  eye.  Then  he 
recited  for  me  in  his  full  rich  brogue  the  exquisite 
verses  which  had  been  written  by  Father  Prout, 
whose  bones  lay  there  at  our  feet  in  the  shadow 
of  the  old  black  tower  where,  still  resonant  with 
the  song  that  had  gone  forth,  swung 

THE  SHANDON  BELLS 

With  deep  affection 
And  recollection 

I  often  think  of 
Those  Shandon  bells. 
Whose  sounds  so  wild  would 
In  the  days  of  childhood 
Fling  round  my  cradle 
Their  magic  spells. 

On  this  I  ponder 
Where'er  I  wander, 

And  thus  grow  fonder, 
Sweet  Cork,  of  thee  — 
With  thy  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 

The  pleasant  waters 
Of  the  river  Lee. 


36  SHAMROCK-LAND 

When  we  drove  away  from  the  old  church  we 
turned  suddenly  into  a  street  where  we  came 
face  to  face  with  a  sight  that  made  me  wonder 
whether  indeed  this  was  one  of  the  much  talked- 
of  "congested  districts"  of  Ireland.  It  was 
fairly  teeming  with  inhabitants.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  little  or  no  traffic  in  the  street, 
with  the  exception  of  a  donkey-car  or  two 
trading  about  the  doors,  but  a  number  of  old 
men,  some  of  extreme  age,  hobbled  along  upon 
their  sticks  or  sat  in  chairs  outside  the  doors  in 
the  morning  sunshine.  And  there  were  many 
women  to  be  seen,  young,  middle-aged,  and  old, 
standing  in  or  about  the  doorways  or  in  groups 
on  the  corners;  and  the  whole  street,  particu- 
larly at  the  alley  entrances,  swarmed  with  chil- 
dren of  every  age,  size,  garb,  complexion,  and 
state  of  griminess. 

When  our  jaunting-car  came  upon  the  scene 
with  what  seemed  to  them  a  tourist  upon  it, 
there  was  one  concerted  movement  in  our  direc- 
tion. As  an  experiment  I  threw  a  half-penny 
into  a  crowd  of  boys.  There  ensued  a  wild 
scramble  which  attracted  the  attention  of  others 
in  the  street  and  alleys  near  by,  and  in  about  a 
minute  we  had  a  following  whose  picturesque- 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY 


n 


ness  and  marvelousness  of  dress  and  expression 
of  countenance  our  language  has  no  words 
adequately  to  describe.  Some  of  the  boys  ap- 
peared just  to  have  come  from  ash  barrels,  and 
others  showed  signs  of  having  been  scouring  the 
gutters  with  their  backs  and  heads;  and  the 
costumes  of  some  of  them  would  have  made  a 
study  for  an  artist.  One  little  fellow  with  white, 
flat  face  and  a  ragged  cap  upon  the  top  of  his 
big  round  head  had  his  visage  literally  bisected 
with  a  heavy  streak  of  dirt  which  extended  from 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  unto  and  even  behind 
his  ears;  and  another  black-haired  boy,  without 
any  head-covering,  who  I  thought  for  the  pre- 
carious manner  in  which  he  was  dressed  was 
quite  too  active  in  his  scramble  for  pennies,  was 
so  scantily  clothed  that  the  accidental  breakage 
of  a  frayed  string  upon  the  shoulder  would  have 
left  him,  there  in  the  street,  in  a  condition 
approximating  that  in  which  he  first  made  his 
appearance  in  the  world. 

As  I  flung  a  penny  here  or  there  in  the  crowd 
they  rushed  together  and  piled  upon  each  other 
until  they  formed  a  mound-like  mass  of  writhing 
and  squirming  humanity  out  of  which  often  bare 
legs,  crowned  with  rusty-looking  soles  and  wide- 


38  SHAMROCK-LAND 

apart  toes,  extended  high  into  the  air.  And  it 
was  all  accompanied  with  the  most  intense  ear- 
nestness. So  eager  and  excited  did  the  little 
fellows  become  in  their  pursuit  of  the  coins  that 
after  they  had  been  told  that  the  supply  of 
copper  upon  the  car  had  been  exhausted,  they 
stretched  their  legs  to  the  utmost  as  they  followed 
our  vehicle,  now  traveling  rapidly  down  the 
street  to  avoid  them,  with  wild  eyes  and  wide- 
open  mouths,  shouting,  "  Cop-p-e-r-r-s !  Cop- 
p-e-r-r-s!  Cop-p-e-r-r-s!'*  with  all  the  power 
which  their  lungs  could  put  forth. 

This  sight  alone,  though  it  was  abundantly 
supplemented  by  other  experiences,  was  suffi- 
cient proof  that  the  beggar  is  still  in  Ireland. 
Whatever  force  may  have  been  expended  in 
making  efficient  the  work-house  system  of  the 
old  island,  and  however  strong  the  sentiment 
against  mendicancy  may  have  developed  among 
the  Irish  people,  there  are  to-day  in  Ireland 
still  a  large  number  of  those  who  get  their  entire 
living  from  unorganized  charity.  The  only 
difference  between  these  and  the  old  times  is 
that  now  the  beggars  are  not  so  numerous  and 
by  no  means  so  persistent  as  they  once  were. 
In  olden  days,  say  about  the  thirties  or  forties 


CASTLE  OF  BLARNEY 


39 


of  the  last  century,  when  Ireland  swarmed  with 
a  population  such  as  a  strictly  agricultural 
country  of  its  size  could  not  well  support,  beg- 
gars in  a  manner  controlled  the  traveling  situa- 
tion. Many  writers,  but  none  more  picturesquely 
than  the  Irish  themselves,  have  related  most 
ludicrous  anecdotes  of  those  interesting  days. 

A  traveler  with  an  eye  to  the  picturesque 
relates  that  on  a  trip  through  southern  Ireland 
in  the  days  when  beggars  were  numerous  he 
was  sometimes  fairly  held  up  until  his  pocket 
had  been  relieved  of  its  superfluous  change.  If 
he  failed  to  show  his  liberality  he  was  sometimes 
roundly  abused;  and  if  perchance  he  showed 
his  temper  at  the  importunities  of  the  mendi- 
cants he  was  even  in  danger  of  personal  violence. 

One  day  from  his  window  in  a  south  Irish 
inn,  this  traveler  saw  a  well-dressed  young  man 
go  up  and  knock  loudly  upon  a  door  opening 
upon  the  street.  At  the  sound  of  the  noise  a 
woman  came  out  from  somewhere  and  accosted 
him:  *'Do,  dear,  honorable,  handsome,  darlint 
young  gintleman,  bestow  a  ha'penny  on  a  poor 
lone  widdy  with  siven  small  starvin'  Httle  childer 
that  haven't  broke  their  fast  this  bhssed  day." 
The  young  man  kept  on  knocking  without  notic- 


40  SHAMROCK-LAND 

ing  her.  She  continued:  "God  kape  the  stringth 
to  your  wrist  to  knock  harder,  sir,  and  the  heart 
in  ye  to  lave  the  Httle  token  of  a  ha'penny  with 
the  lone  widdy  and  her  siven  fatherless  childer." 
"I  have  no  silver  about  me,"  said  the  young 
man  with  some  impatience.  "I  did  not  ax  ye 
for  silver  or  goold,  but  jist  for  one  lone  ha'penny 
for  the  broken-hearted  widdy  and  her  siven  poor 
little  naked  fatherless  childer."  The  young  man 
lost  his  temper.  "I  tell  you,  I  have  no  ha'- 
pence!" he  shouted  at  her. 

'*Why,  thin,  bad  luck  to  ye!"  she  hotly  ex- 
claimed, setting  her  arms  a-kimbo  and  looking 
a  fury,  **thin  what  the  divil  did  ye  bring  me 
from  my  comfortable  sate  across  the  strate  for, 
if  ye  had  no  money  in  yer  pocket,  —  ye  poor, 
ugly,  miserable,  half-starved,  whey-faced  gos- 
soon! 

Happily,  Ireland  has  recovered  from  the  pov- 
erty of  those  days,  and  now  the  principal  beggars 
are  the  ragged  boys  in  the  slums  of  the  cities  — 
a  class  of  mendicants  for  whom  the  tourist  is  to 
some  degree  responsible  —  and  the  importunate 
souvenir-sellers  at  all  of  the  leading  tourist 
resorts. 

As  our  car  speeded  along  through  the  alleys 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY  41 

and  streets,  leaving  the  boys  behind,  we  passed 
numerous  low-back  donkey-cars,  loaded  down 
with  produce  of  one  kind  or  another,  on  their 
way  into  the  city.  These  little  carts,  without 
springs,  and  with  only  boards  for  seats,  are 
much  used  by  the  Irish  peasantry  to-day.  They 
are  midway  in  point  of  evolution  between  the 
old  low-back  drag  car  —  a  kind  of  basket  or 
box  fastened  to  shafts  whose  ends  were  mere 
runners  upon  the  ground  —  and  the  modern 
jaunting-car  which  is  the  public  vehicle  of 
Ireland. 

In  getting  out  of  the  city  we  saw  many  other 
interesting  sights  suggestive  of  Ireland;  but  in 
making  a  sudden  turn  we  came  in  full  sight  of 
the  broad  open  face  of  the  country.  What  a 
transformation!  Behind  us  was  a  city,  at  best 
old-fashioned,  dingy,  timeworn  —  in  front  lay 
stretched  out  in  the  haze  of  a  June  day  as  fair 
a  country  as  the  sunshine  ever  fell  upon.  This 
is  the  paradox  of  Ireland  —  poverty  and  beauty 
going  hand  in  hand. 

The  drive  from  the  suburbs  of  Cork  to  the 
village  of  Blarney  is  considered  by  many  to  be 
one  of  the  most  charming  in  the  British  Isles. 
On  every  side  the  green  fields  lay  about  us  — 


42  SHAMROCK-LAND 

rolling,  variegated,  beautiful.  There  was  no 
raggedness  or  uneven  growth  of  copse,  or  weed, 
or  briar;  but  every  field  was  as  smooth  as  velvet, 
with  no  extraneous  growth  except  the  myriads 
of  minute  sod-blossoms,  and  a  larger  growth  of 
field  daisy  and  red  wild  poppy  that  grew  in  the 
most  obscure  corners  of  the  fields  and  upon  the 
brink  of  the  streams. 

Now  and  then  we  passed  some  old  stone 
bridge,  or  remnant  of  a  castle,  or,  perchance, 
an  ancient  marker  at  the  turn  of  the  highway. 
The  road  on  each  side  was  walled  in  with  gray 
stone,  out  of  the  interstices  of  which  grew  stunted 
white-thorn  and  wild  roses.  In  the  meadows 
cattle  and  sheep  grazed  lazily,  sometimes  stand- 
ing half  a  knee  deep  in  the  sweet  lush  grass. 

My  driver,  being  an  Irishman,  talked  inces- 
santly of  the  country  —  its  traditions,  its  people, 
its  customs,  and  the  landmarks  which  we  passed. 
He  knew  all  the  cross-roads,  and  was  acquainted 
with  the  occupant  of  every  peasant's  cottage. 
He  could  relate  the  history  of  every  mansion  of 
the  "gintry"  that  we  passed,  and  bring  back  to 
life  many  a  scene  of  violence  and  bloodshed  in 
the  distant  past.  He  knew  of  noted  funerals 
and  wakes  over  the  dead ;  and  of  these  and  many 


< 


I 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY  43 

Other  interesting  things  he  talked  to  me  on  our 
ride  to  Blarney  that  day. 

Before  I  could  realize  that  we  had  reached 
our  journey's  end  my  driver  drew  up  his  horse 
under  the  gnarled  elms  that  shaded  the  street 
of  the  village  of  Blarney.  Rows  of  white  cot- 
tages lined  the  street.  On  one  side  was  a  long 
one-story  building  which  for  many  years  had 
been  operated  as  a  tweed  mill.  Here  the  fine 
wool  grown  on  the  surrounding  meadows  is 
converted  into  a  handsome  tweed  which  is  much 
sought  after  by  the  tourist.  The  operatives  of 
the  mill  lived  in  the  houses  which  lined  the 
village  street. 

I  paid  a  sixpence  at  the  little  gate-house 
buried  in  the  shade,  crossed  a  rustic  bridge,  and 
found  myself  within  the  broad  shady  grounds 
that  surrounded  old  Blarney  Castle.  The  an- 
cient building,  like  a  mountain  of  gray  stone, 
loomed  up  in  front  of  me  in  poetic  beauty.  A 
few  persons,  apparently  tourists,  were  strolling 
about  the  grounds;  and  a  number  of  children 
were  swinging  under  a  tree. 

Within  the  door,  or  cavern-like  entrance,  of 
the  castle,  an  old  Irish  woman  had  a  stand 
where  she  kept  for  sale  an  elaborate  assortment 


44  SHAMROCK-LAND 

of  trinkets  and  souvenirs  of  Ireland.  With 
genuine  good  nature  she  pointed  out  to  me  the 
portion  of  the  castle  which  held  the  Blarney 
Stone,  and  after  exacting  of  me  the  customary 
admission  fee  of  a  sixpence,  she  pointed  me  to 
the  stairways  that  led  above. 

Within  the  castle  the  air  was  damp  and  cool, 
and  heavy  with  musty  odors  of  the  past.  I 
groped  my  way  up  the  great  rambling  stairways 
of  stone,  passing  through  dungeons,  and  cuddies, 
and  strange  old  chambers,  lighted  only  with  a 
sht  of  sunshine  which  came  mysteriously  through 
the  heavy  walls  of  stone.  More  than  once  I 
strayed  off  from  my  proper  course  and  lost  my- 
self in  some  gloomy  nook  where  it  required  little 
effort  to  imagine  many  a  bloody  tragedy  had 
occurred  in  olden  days.  For  many  generations 
ago  this  castle  was  the  storm-center  of  Ireland, 
and  sometimes,  they  say,  dead  men  were  strewn 
in  heaps  along  these  grewsome  stairways. 

At  last  I  reached  the  top.  The  ancient  roof 
had  fallen  in,  but  enough  of  the  former  coverings 
of  the  old  pile  remained  to  shut  out  the  sunshine 
and  the  rain.  The  walls,  immensely  thick,  fur- 
nished a  good  walk-way  around  the  top  of  the 
building.     From  this  vantage-ground  I  looked 


CASTLE  OF  BLARNEY  45 

about  me  at  the  landscape.  As  far  as  eye  could 
see  there  was  a  succession  of  green  fields,  and 
white  roads,  and  ancient  manors,  and  thatched 
cottages,  and  tiny  lakes  half-hidden  by  green 
patches  of  wood  where  grew  the  most  densely 
foliaged  trees.  The  scene  was  one  of  peculiar 
tenderness  and  peace,  —  a  contrast  indeed  to 
some  of  the  stormy  times  in  the  past  history  of 
this  fortress. 

The  castle  was  erected  in  the  year  1446  by 
Cormac  MacCarthy,  bishop  and  mighty  warrior, 
whose  ancestors  had  been  chieftains  in  Munster 
Ireland  from  a  period  long  antecedent  to  the 
English  invasion.  He  built  the  castle  for  a 
military  stronghold,  and  here  he  quartered  a 
large  number  of  men,  bold,  quick,  and  watchful, 
who  kept  at  bay  many  an  invading  and  hostile 
army. 

Cormac's  descendants,  the  Lords  of  Muskerry 
and  Clancarty,  retained  possession  of  a  large 
portion  of  the  vast  surrounding  estate  until  the 
year  1689  when  it  was  confiscated,  and  the  last 
earl  became  an  exile.  In  1702  when  the  castle, 
village,  mills,  fairs,  and  customs  of  Blarney  were 
"set  up  by  cant,"  Sir  Richard  Pyne  bought  the 
entire  estate  of  1400  acres  for  the  sum  of  ;^3000. 


46  SHAMROCK-LAND 

The  following  year  he  disposed  of  it  to  Sir 
James  Jeffreys  whose  descendants  or  heirs  held 
the  property  for  several  generations,  if,  indeed, 
they  do  not  hold  it  to-day. 

The  present  owner  of  the  estate,  including  the 
old  castle,  makes  his  home  in  a  modern  "castle" 
—  as  the  homes  of  the  gentry  are  called  in 
Ireland  —  about  half  a  mile  from  the  ancient 
building.  Here  he  lives  in  the  seclusiveness  and 
exclusiveness  usual  to  the  modern  gentry  of 
Ireland.  Visitors  and  tourists  seldom  see  or 
hear  anything  definite  of  these  elusive  aristocrats 
who  bury  themselves  in  the  center  of  a  park 
which  is  shut  in  from  the  highways  by  tall  stone 
walls. 

Descendants  of  the  original  MacCarthy  clan 
may  be  found  working,  as  day-laborers,  around 
the  ruins  of  the  castle  where  their  forefathers 
ruled  so  long.  Tradition  has  it  that  the  Earl  of 
Clancarty,  who  forfeited  the  castle  at  the  time 
of  the  Revolution,  cast  all  his  plate  into  a  certain 
part  of  Blarney  Lake,  near  the  castle,  and  that 
three  of  the  MacCarthys  inherit  the  secret  of 
the  hiding-place.  When  one  of  them  dies  he 
communicates  the  secret  to  another  one  of  the 
family,  and  thus  perpetuates  the  secret  which  is 


CASTLE  OF  BLARNEY  47 

never  to  be  openly  revealed  until  a  MacCarthy 
is  again  Lord  of  Blarney. 

Every  step  of  ground  within  a  mile  of  the 
castle  is  hallowed  by  legend.  According  to  local 
report,  which  is  faithfully  believed  by  many, 
enchanted  cows  on  midsummer  nights  dispute 
the  pasture  with  those  of  the  present  possessor, 
and  many  an  earthly  bull  has  been  worsted  in 
the  contest.  And  it  is  also  said  that  fairy  rings 
are  upon  the  grass  from  early  summer  to  the 
last  week  in  harvest. 

Blarney  Castle  obtained  its  present  popularity 
from  a  famous  stone,  still  in  the  walls,  around 
which  clusters  much  of  romance  and  supersti- 
tion. Tradition  says  that  after  Cormac  Mac- 
Carthy had  built  this  castle  he  chanced  one  day 
to  save  an  old  woman  from  drowning,  and  to 
show  her  gratitude  the  old  woman  offered 
Cormac  a  golden  tongue  which  should  have  the 
power  of  fluent  persuasiveness  —  a  tongue  that 
could  influence  men  and  women,  friends  and 
foes,  as  he  willed.  To  get  this  power,  however, 
Cormac  must  climb  to  the  keep  of  the  castle,  let 
himself  down  in  some  difficult  way,  and  kiss  a 
certain  stone  in  the  walls  situated  about  five  feet 
below  the  gallery  running  around  the  top.     It  is 


48  SHAMROCK-LAND 

said  the  great  warrior-churchman  followed  the 
old  woman's  directions  with  great  minuteness, 
kissed  the  stone,  and  at  once  obtained  all  the 
persuasive  eloquence  which  had  been  promised 
him.  Soon  the  story  was  told  throughout  Ire- 
land. It  went  also  to  other  countries  and  made 
Blarney  one  of  the  best  known  castles  in  the 
world. 

Walking  around  the  top  of  the  castle  walls  in 
the  warm  sunshine,  I  began  to  look  for  the 
noted  stone,  and  at  length  found  it  held  in  place 
by  two  iron  bands  suspended  from  the  very  top 
of  the  stone  battlements.  A  row  of  iron  spikes 
has  been  placed  on  the  top  of  the  battlements 
above  the  stone  to  prevent  foolhardy  adventurers 
from  attempting  to  kiss  the  stone  by  being  let 
down  over  the  walls  by  the  heels  as  was  the 
custom  at  one  time  to  do.  Now  the  pilgrim  to 
this  shrine  of  eloquence  must  get  down  on  his 
knees,  or  lie  flat  down  on  the  stones,  bend  his 
body  at  the  waist  and  thrust  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders down  about  three  feet  through  a  square 
opening  in  the  stones  opposite  the  cornice,  and 
in  this  position  turn  his  neck  and  kiss  the  stone 
from  the  under  side.  An  attendant  with  good 
muscles  must  be  at  hand  to  hold  the  heels  of 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  Xew  York. 

Blarney  Castle,  near  Cork. 

The  Stronghold  of  the  McCarthys  and  the  Shrine  of  Irish  Wit. 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY  49 

the  one  who  attempts  to  kiss  the  stone,  else,  by 
the  law  of  gravitation,  he  will  topple  over  and 
go  through  the  hole  to  the  green  turf  a  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  below. 

It  is  said  that  this  stone  (provided  this  is  the 
genuine  stone)  formerly  had  a  Latin  inscription 
carved  upon  it: 

''CoRMAC  MacCarthy  fortis  mi  fieri 

FECIT,    1446/* 

If  true,  time  and  multitudes  of  osculations  have 
served  to  wear  all  the  Latin  away;  for  the  glimpse 
which  I  got  of  the  stone  when  I  kissed  it  revealed 
it  as  being  as  smooth  and  as  greasy-looking  as  if 
all  Ireland  had  been  kissing  it  for  centuries. 

At  the  time  when  I  was  upon  the  top  of  the 
castle  there  were  also  present  possibly  a  dozen 
persons,  most  of  them  tourists,  looking  around 
and  speculating,  as  all  visitors  do,  about  the 
Blarney  Stone.  None  of  them  had  kissed  it, 
owing  to  the  difficulty  and  supposed  danger  of 
getting  to  it.  After  due  examination  I  decided 
that  the  feat  was  not  necessarily  a  dangerous 
one,  so  I  bargained  with  a  young  man  whose 
attire  and  accent  showed  that  he  was  an  Ameri- 
can, each  agreeing  to  hold  the  heels  of  the  other 


50  SHAMROCK-LAND 

while  he  bent  down  through  the  square  opening 
and  kissed  the  stone.  One  or  two  other  Ameri- 
cans came  up  and  helped  me  hold  this  young 
man's  heels  while  he  went  down  to  obtain  the 
eloquence.  I  followed  him  with  some  degree 
of  boldness,  and  then  several  others  volunteered 
to  try  the  experiment.  One  young  New  Yorker 
came  forward  enthusiastically  and  asked  the 
fellows  standing  by  to  hold  his  feet.  Just  as  he 
leaned  over  the  square  opening  he  happened  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  ground  below,  when  he  suddenly 
decided  that  the  whole  thing  was  the  rankest 
kind  of  superstition  and  that  the  stone  was  not 
worth  kissing  after  all. 

Most  of  the  visitors  had  gone  down  when  I 
observed  two  handsome  young  ladies  evidently 
seriously  perplexed  about  something.  Then  I 
heard  one  of  them  say,  "Oh,  indeed,  how 
anxious  /  am  to  kiss  the  stone!"  The  ladies 
were  accompanied  by  a  gentleman,  a  brother  to 
one  and  a  cousin  to  the  other,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  who  was  willing  to  oblige  them,  but  he 
needed  some  one  to  help  him  hold  the  heels  of 
the  ladies  as  they  bent  over  the  dangerous  open- 
ing. The  young  man  from  America  was  oblig- 
ing, so  the  rather  more  eager  of  the  two  young 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY  51 

ladies  soon  swung  down  and  kissed  the  stone. 
Her  companion,  a  rather  timid  and  modest- 
looking  young  girl,  was  more  reluctant  to  accom- 
plish her  hidden  desires,  and  it  was  only  after 
a  great  deal  of  persuasion  that  she  consented  to 
kiss  the  stone.  But  when  she  did  yield  she 
came  up  very  red  and  very  happy. 

Armed  with  tourist  license  (something  about 
as  vague  and  indefinite  as  poetic  license),  and 
feeling  compelled  to  say  something  pleasant,  I 
congratulated  the  young  ladies  upon  their  brav- 
ery, at  the  same  time  assuring  them  that  it  was 
my  candid  opinion  none  but  Yankee  girls  would 
attempt  the  difficult  task. 

With  some  amusement  they  assured  me  that 
they  were  not  Americans,  but  were  both  natives 
of  good  county  Cork.  They  had  often  visited 
Blarney,  but  this  was  the  first  time  that  they 
had  ever  attempted  to  kiss  the  Blarney  Stone. 
The  gentleman  who  accompanied  the  young 
ladies  then  formally  introduced  me  to  them, 
and  we  had  an  extended  conversation  upon 
many  things  Irish  as  we  walked  down  the  laby- 
rinthian  stairway  of  stone  and  even  after  we  had 
reached  the  grounds  outside.  Before  I  left  them 
they  had  registered  in  my  traveler's  book,  and 


52  SHAMROCK-LAND 

both  had  extended  invitations  to  me  to  visit 
them  in  their  homes.  One  of  them  Hved  on  a 
residential  street  in  Cork,  and  the  other,  her 
cousin,  hved  in  a  village  some  miles  outside  of 
the  city. 

"Ah,"  said  the  fair  young  Corkian,  **you 
should  take  tea  to-morrow  evening  in  our  home 
in  Cork,  and  then  you  may  visit  Deha's  home 
where  you  will  find  the  best  cake  to  be  had  in 
south  Ireland.  And,  indeed,  it  is  the  product 
of  Delia's  hands." 

It  was  ever  afterwards  a  source  of  regret  that 
circumstances  did  not  allow  me  to  go  to  Delia's 
home  and  eat  some  of  that  cake  for  which  the 
girl  had  become  so  famous. 

Whatever  one  may  find  to  say  against  the 
Irish,  their  splendid  hospitality  can  never  be 
impeached.  It  extends  through  all  grades  of 
society  from  the  gentry  to  the  lowliest  peasants 
in  houses  of  thatch.  And  it  is  great  because  it 
is  so  genuine.  Sir  Walter  Scott  visited  Ireland 
in  1825,  traveling  all  through  the  island.  He 
remained  several  days  at  Cork  and  visited 
Blarney  Castle.  In  writing  to  his  friend  Morritt 
he  expressed  himself  as  being  greatly  pleased 
with  the  Irish  hospitality.     Said  he:  ** Indeed,  it 


CASTLE  OF  BLARNEY  53 

is  impossible  to  conceive  the  extent  of  this  virtue 
in  all  classes.  I  don't  think  even  our  Scottish 
hospitality  can  match  that  of  Ireland.  Every- 
thing seems  to  give  way  to  the  desire  to  accommo- 
date a  stranger,  and  I  really  believe  the  story  of 
the  Irish  harper  who  condemned  his  harp  to  the 
flames  for  want  of  firewood  to  cook  a  guest's 
supper." 

In  strolling  about  the  grounds  of  the  castle 
after  coming  down  from  the  keep,  I  was  charmed 
with  the  great  beauty  of  the  surroundings  —  the 
grassy  grounds,  the  great  old  trees,  the  rocky 
glens,  and  the  romantic  nooks.  "The  sweet 
Rock-close,"  a  part  of  the  grounds  of  singular 
beauty,  was  made  famous  by  a  poem  written  in 
1798  by  Richard  Alfred  Millikin,  an  attorney 
of  Cork.  The  poem,  catchy  and  musical,  was 
intended  as  a  parody  on  "Sweet  Castle  Hyde," 
a  song-poem  very  popular  in  Ireland  at  that 
time.     Two  of  the  verses  were  about  as  follows: 

THE  GROVES  OF  BLARNEY 

The  groves  of  Blarney  they  look  so  charming, 
Down  by  the  purhng  of  sweet  silent  brooks  — 

All  decked  by  posies  that  spontaneous  grow  there 
Planted  in  order  in  the  rocky  nooks. 

Tis  there  the  daisy,  and  the  sweet  carnation, 
The  blooming  pink  and  the  rose  so  fair, 


54  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Likewise  the  lily,  and  the  daffodilly  — 
All  flowers  that  scent  the  sweet,  silent  air. 

'Tis  Lady  Jeffers  owns  this  plantation, 

Like  Alexander,  or  like  Helen  fair, 
There's  no  commander  in  all  the  nation 

For  regulation  can  with  her  compare. 
Such  walls  surround  her,  that  no  nine-pounder 

Could  ever  plunder  her  place  of  strength; 
But  Oliver  Cromwell,  he  did  her  pommel. 

And  made  a  breach  in  her  battlement. 

To  the  six  rollicking  stanzas  of  this  popular 
parody,  Francis  S.  Mahony,  of  Cork,  better 
known  as  Father  Prout,  added  the  following 
lines  which  have  served  to  carry  the  tradition  of 
the  Blarney  Stone  to  every  part  of  the  world : 

"There  is  a  stone  there. 
That  whoever  kisses, 
Oh!  he  never  misses 
To  grow  eloquent. 
'Tis  he  may  clamber 
To  a  lady's  chamber 
Or  become  a  member 
Of  sweet  Parliament. 

"A  clever  spouter 

He'll  sure  turn  out,  or 
An  out  and  outer, 
To  be  let  alone! 
Don't  hope  to  hinder  him. 
Or  to  bewilder  him, 
Sure  he's  a  pilgrim 
From  the  Blarney  Stone." 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY 


55 


I  found  my  jaunting-car  ready  for  me  on  the 
outside  of  the  castle  grounds.  The  driver  was 
contentedly  smoking  his  pipe.  Irish  drivers  do 
not  become  impatient.  Their  temperaments 
make  it  impossible. 

We  drove  back  to  Cork  by  another  and  even 
more  picturesque  route  than  the  one  by  which 
we  came.  All  Irish  roads  are  good,  but  those 
roads  were  perfection.  On  each  side  was  a 
picture  of  rural  prosperity;  and  when  we  reached 
the  hills  overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Lee  a 
broad  prospect  of  intensive  cultivation  was  dis- 
closed. 

There  were  houses  of  different  kinds  along  the 
road,  some  of  them  "castles"  of  the  gentry,  set 
back  in  groves,  and  others,  much  the  larger 
number,  were  but  huts  of  stone,  plastered  over 
with  mud  and  whitewashed.  Some  of  them  were 
newly  covered  with  slate  (the  result  of  agitation 
on  the  part  of  reform  societies),  but  many  of 
them  were  still  roofed  in  with  the  old-time 
thatch.  Around  the  doorways  moved  the  usual 
objects  of  animal  life,  and  little  barefoot  children 
played  and  shouted  just  as  other  children  are 
wont  to  do. 

We  met  or  passed  many  vehicles  in  the  road, 


56  SHAMROCK-LAND 

some  of  them  carrying  representatives  of  what 
might  have  been  three  or  four  generations  of 
the  same  family.  Those  in  their  prime  sat  in 
front  and  drove,  the  old,  with  pipes,  sat  farther 
back,  and  the  children  filled  the  cart's  body 
and  clung  to  the  tailboard,  behind.  And  there 
were  pedestrians  going  hither  and  thither,  their 
dress  too  often  corresponding  but  poorly  with 
the  richness  of  the  landscapes  against  which 
they  could  be  seen.  For  throughout  this  region 
of  south  Ireland  one  gains  the  impression  (which 
I  am  not  sure  he  ever  succeeds  in  getting  rid  of) 
that  Ireland  as  a  country  is  very  rich,  while 
Ireland  as  a  people  is  painfully  poor. 

And  the  faces  we  saw  in  the  way!  The  im- 
pression has  gone  forth,  how  or  why  no  one 
seems  to  know,  that  the  Irish  are  a  race  of  idle 
buffoons  whose  thoughts  go  no  deeper  than  the 
mere  surface  of  things,  and  whose  speech  is 
made  up  of  bulls,  and  burlesques,  and  blunders. 
To  be  sure,  the  Irish  are  a  quick-witted  people, 
and  their  sense  of  humor  (not  unusual  with  an 
intensely  emotional  race)  is  particularly  keen. 
But  the  one  who  holds  that  they  are  thoughtless 
is  no  less  mistaken  than  he  who  believes  them  to 
be  a  jovially  contented  people.     Directly  upon 


-a 
o 

O 


"^O 

_o 

C3 

C 

a 

Oh 

Oj 

>< 

r^ 

c/:: 

o 

u 

M 

I— i 

C 

r3 

'c 

0 

C 

s 

o 

«J 

*-^ 

c 

Cm 

o 

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u 

J3 

H 

#■ 


CASTLE  OF   BLARNEY  57 

the  contrary  in  both  instances,  the  Irish  are 
veritable  artists  in  introspection,  and  their  tem- 
peraments are  essentially  melancholy.  Almost 
every  native  face  shows,  sometimes  though  it 
be  through  smiles,  a  shade  of  unutterable 
sadness. 

It  may  be  those  bog-lands  filled  with  mist;  it 
may  be  the  old  crumbling  ruins;  it  may  be  the 
gray  lakes;  or  all,  behind  the  quiet  Irish  face, 
which  cause  every  visitor  to  the  isle  of  the 
shamrock  to  bring  back  with  him  the  impression 
of  having  visited  the  saddest  land  of  earth. 
And  the  one  who  goes  there  and  thinks  and 
feels  knows  that  the  "Irish  question"  is  as  deep 
as  Irish  character,  and  as  solemn,  indeed,  as 
the  gloomy  mists  which  settle  down  every  night 
upon  the  ruins  that  crown  the  hilltops  and  bury 
in  darkness  the  hovels  of  thatch  that  nestle 
pathetically  in  the  valleys. 


CHAPTER   III 

WALKS    AND    TALKS    WITH    THE    PEOPLE    OF    KIL- 

LARNEY 

The  day  I  left  the  old  city  of  Cork  for 
Killarney,  out  in  the  mountains  of  Kerry,  the 
rain  fell  incessantly,  the  thick,  damp  mists 
blowing  in  from  the  sea  and  enveloping  the 
whole  dank,  luscious,  green  country  in  a  melan- 
choly gloom.  Nature's  tears  fall  freely  over 
Ireland.  Not  even  June  with  her  daisies,  her 
roses,  and  her  red  wild  poppies,  can  claim  for 
her  meadows  more  than  fitful  gleams  of  sun- 
shine flashing  down  through  swiftly-moving 
clouds;  or,  at  most,  a  gentle,  hazy  day  shut  in 
on  either  side  with  long  seasons  of  wind  and 
rain. 

Perhaps  the  sadness  and  hopelessness  seen  on 
so  many  Irish  faces  may  in  a  measure  be  due 
to  the  climate  of  that  strange  island  of  the  sea. 
Many    thinkers    assert    that    all    the    apparent 

thriftlessness    of   this    people    at    home    results 

58 


PEOPLE  OF   KILLARNEY  59 

primarily  from  conditions  which  are  more  or  less 
climatic.  Those  who  have  studied  deeply  into 
the  racial  characteristics  of  the  Irish  people  and 
are  sufficiently  familiar  with  ethnology  to  draw 
broad  conclusions,  say  the  Irish  were  originally 
a  far  southern  people,  and  for  thousands  of 
years  lived  in  the  sunshine  of  some  mild  Oriental 
land.  They  had  from  the  childhood  of  the  race 
the  habit  of  hving  out-of-doors  and  breathing 
the  fresh  air  of  the  fields  and  woods. 

Many  thousands  of  years  ago  they  found  their 
way  into  Europe,  possibly  overland,  possibly 
through  Phoenician  ports,  and  in  the  process  of 
time  they  were  driven  by  encroaching  tribes 
farther  and  farther  into  the  north  and  west, 
until  they  reached  Ireland,  the  ultimate  island 
of  Europe,  set  in  the  path  of  the  currents  and 
winds  of  the  ocean  that  envelop  the  land  for 
most  of  the  year  in  mist,  and  fog,  and  rain. 
Here  they  have  lived  since  that  remote  period, 
holding  in  their  hearts  an  inherited  passion  for 
the  sun,  the  fresh  air,  and  the  fields;  and  while 
their  environments  are  so  cruel  and  harsh,  their 
instincts  revert  to  that  age  when  a  long  line  of 
progenitors  Hved  under  sunlit  and  star-bedecked 
skies,  Nature's  wards,  their  food  the  milk  of  the 


6o  SHAMROCK-LAND 

goat,  the  fig  and  the  olive,  their  home  but  the 
flapping  tent  of  wild  asses'  skins.  And  thus 
the  Irish  peasant  to-day,  by  nature  a  poet,  by 
inheritance  a  dreamer  of  dreams,  lives  in  a 
constant  and  unequal  struggle  with  his  en- 
vironments, denied  every  requisite  which  his 
sympathetic  nature  demands;  and  always  re- 
membering the  old,  and  never  adapting  himself 
to  the  new,  the  open  air  is  still  his  home,  that 
cottage  of  stone  on  the  hillside  but  his  nightly 
resting-place. 

And  so,  they  say,  the  Irish  people  can  never 
thrive  so  long  as  they  remain  in  the  island  home, 
but  they  need  transplanting  in  some  sunny  cli- 
mate where  they  can  return  to  the  habits  of  the 
youth  of  their  race  and  receive  a  fair  share  of 
nature's  smiles  along  with  her  necessary  tears. 
It  may  be  this  old  call  which  has  lured  so  many 
of  them  to  follow  the  sunset's  line  of  light  across 
the  Atlantic,  to  become  so  happy  and  so  strong 
in  a  land  where,  neither  in  nature  nor  among 
men  is  the  hand  of  a  tyrant  lifted  against  them. 

But  to  return  to  that  day  in  June.  —  It  was 
indeed  a  gloomy  day  without,  but  within  my 
compartment  in  an  antique  coach  on  an  antique 
railroad  there  was  a  plenty  of  sunshine.     My 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  6i 

fellow-travelers  were  a  young  man  from  county 
Clare,  a  typical  old  Irish  woman  of  Kerry,  and 
a  black-haired,  crimson-cheeked  girl  with  a  glint 
in  her  gray-blue  eye.  The  old  woman  talked 
incessantly  of  her  neighborhood  and  its  affairs  — 
potato  weeding,  the  fowls,  haying,  and  this  glori- 
ous rain.  The  young  man  smoked  his  pipe, 
now  and  then  making  a  facetious  remark  at 
which  they  all  laughed;  and  the  young  girl,  who 
had  remarkably  pretty  teeth,  was  a  constant 
smile. 

At  Mallow  Junction  in  northern  county  Cork, 
I  was  switched  off  on  the  westbound  train  for 
Killarney,  forty  miles  away,  where  I  arrived 
in  the  pouring  rain  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
In  the  lobby  of  a  well-appointed  tourist  hotel 
I  found  a  number  of  congenial  American  travelers 
and  not  a  few  well-dressed  Englishmen  and 
Irishmen  who  were  there  ostensibly  to  enjoy 
the  scenery  of  that  most  romantic  district  of 
Ireland. 

Killarney  has  long  had  the  reputation  of  being 
the  most  entrancing  spot  in  the  British  Isles. 
The  charm  of  this  region  lies  not  only  in  a 
natural  beauty  which  is  unsurpassed  anywhere 
else  in  the  world,  but  also  in  a  vast  number  of 


62  SHAMROCK-LAND 

wonderful  ruins  which  serve  vividly  to  remind  one 
of  the  historic  richness  of  the  Celtic  past.  There 
is  a  chain  of  lakes,  overhung  with  precipitous 
mountains,  rising  in  dense  blue  lazulite  to  lofty 
heights  above  the  lapping  waves.  There  are 
long  glens,  shut  in  with  green  cliffs  on  either 
side,  where  the  sunlight  barely  enters  at  noon- 
day, and  where  the  evening  shadows  quickly 
fall.  There  are  islands  scattered  here  and  there 
upon  the  lakes,  ruin-clad,  and  rioting  with  dense 
growths  of  holly  and  arbutus;  and  forests  of 
tangled  beech  and  oak  and  larch  and  fir  and  elm, 
almost  tropical  in  growth,  covering  the  mountain- 
sides. And  there  are  peasants'  cottages  every- 
where to  be  seen;  and  a  multitude  of  ancient 
ruins,  on  the  islands,  down  by  the  lake  shores, 
in  the  valleys,  and  up  on  the  sides  of  the  cliffs  — 
castles,  towers,  monasteries,  priories,  and  abbeys 
—  vine-clad  and  yew-shaded,  with  histories  ex- 
tending back  into  the  very  early  days  of  Irish 
life. 

The  Lakes  of  Killarney  proper  are  three  in 
number.  The  Upper  Lake,  the  southernmost, 
covering  an  area  of  only  430  acres,  is  overhung 
with  mountains,  the  Purple  Mountain  being 
directly  on  the  northern  shore,  and  the  Derry- 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  63 

cunihy  ranges  on  the  south.  Upon  this  lake  are 
many  romantic  islands  and  some  old  ruins.  The 
Middle  Lake,  known  also  as  Muckross  or  Tore 
Lake,  contains  an  area  of  680  acres.  Over  it 
hang  Tore  Mountain  on  the  south,  and  Sheehy 
Mountain  on  the  west.  Between  these  two 
mountains  flows  the  Long  Range,  a  stream 
which  joins  the  lakes  together.  Above  this 
stream  also  hangs  Eagle's  Nest,  whose  cliffs  rise 
perpendicularly  1700  feet  from  the  water's  edge. 
Where  the  Long  Range  joins  Lake  Muckross, 
old  Weir  Bridge  stands,  and  near  by  is  the  Meet- 
ing of  the  Waters.  The  northernmost  lake, 
known  as  Lough  Leane,  has  an  area  of  5,000 
acres  and  is  five  miles  long  and  about/three 
miles  broad.  Clustered  around  it  are  innumer- 
able ruins. 

On  the  west  of  the  lakes  rise  tall  mountains, 
beyond  which,  extending  from  north  to  south 
for  five  miles,  is  the  famous  Gap  of  Dunloe,  one 
of  the  curiosities  of  Ireland.  Farther  still  to  the 
west  are  the  MacGiUicuddy  Reeks,  the  tallest 
mountains  of  Ireland. 

North  of  the  lakes  are  cottages,  roads,streams, 
villages,  churches,  and  ruins  of  castles  and  round 
towers.     On  the  east  is  a  rolling  grassy  country, 


64  SHAMROCK-LAND 

with  many  white  roads,  the  railway  line,  and 
the  well-known  town  of  Killarney. 

Early  on  the  morning  after  my  arrival,  tourists 
were  getting  ready  for  extended  drives  about 
the  lakes  and  through  the  famous  Gap  of  Dunloe, 
where  they  might  see  the  purpling  of  the  hills 
and  the  flashings  of  light  above  the  gray  waters 
in  the  distance.  I  took  my  note-book  and  my 
camera  and  determined  that  I  would  while  my 
first  day  away  just  walking  and  talking  with 
the  people  of  the  little  town  and  the  surrounding 
countryside. 

I  strolled  down  the  old  densely  shaded  street 
until  I  reached  the  town.  And  what  a  town 
Killarney  is!  Its  population  is  about  five  or  six 
thousand  —  the  vast  majority  of  the  inhabitants 
being  real  Irish  of  a  type  that  charms  and  a 
manner  that  enthralls  a  traveler's  heart.  The 
main  streets  are  fairly  well  kept,  with  some  good 
shops,  and  a  handsome  church  or  two,  but  the 
byways  and  lanes  are  picturesque  indeed. 
Here  dilapidated  houses  meet  one  at  almost 
every  turn;  thatched  roofs  line  the  cobbled 
streets;  strings  of  geese  roam  at  sweet  will  from 
doorway  to  doorway;  crows  and  rooks  chatter 
and  caw  from  every  spire  and  beetling  chimney- 


u 


1) 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  65 

top;  grimy  children  play  in  front  of  bare  stony 
doorways;  and  low-backed  cars  from  far  out  in 
the  mountains  stand  in  the  sunny  open  squares, 
waiting  for  purchasers  of  their  peat,  their 
feathers,  and  their  gooseberries. 

I  soon  found  myself  in  a  market  square  where 
a  Hne  of  low-backed  donkey  cars  were  standing, 
all  loaded  and  piled  up  with  black,  brick-shaped 
blocks  of  turf  or  peat  from  the  bogs  somewhere 
out  in  the  country.  Beside  the  miniature  teams 
were  the  drivers,  either  standing  alone  absorbed 
in  dreams,  or  in  little  groups  talking  with  that 
solemnity  of  manner  peculiar  to  Ireland.  When 
I  walked  up  I  had  no  difficulty  in  engaging  them 
in  conversation.  Like  most  Irishmen,  they  were 
willing  to  talk,  and  were  happy  to  give  me  such 
information  as  they  could  about  such  things  as 
I  wished  to  know.  They  told  me  this  peat,  or 
turf,  as  they  called  it,  had  been  cut  from  bogs 
out  in  the  mountain  passes  and  small  valleys, 
and  that  they  had  brought  it  to  town  to  sell  to 
the  villagers  at  two  shillings  the  load.  Their 
dress  was  original  and  in  some  cases  shabby, 
but  it  was  decidedly  picturesque.  The  three  or 
four  mountain  girls  among  these  peat-sellers  were 
dressed   in   the   usual   inland   Irish   costume  — 


66  SHAMROCK-LAND 

short  skirts,  heavy  woolen  stockings,  and  very 
heavy,  thick-bottomed  shoes.  And  they  all  had 
shawls  over  their  heads  drawn  so  closely  that 
their  faces  were  hidden  except  from  those  who 
stood  immediately  in  front  of  them. 

I  wished  to  get  a  picture  of  the  line  of  carts  with 
their  drivers.  So  I  asked  one  of  the  girls  if  she 
objected  to  my  taking  the  photograph.  She 
seemed  embarrassed  and  pretended  not  to  hear 
what  I  said.  I  insisted,  however,  and  brought 
together  a  number  of  the  turf-sellers,  including 
some  peculiarly  rustic-looking  old  fellows  from 
somewhere  far  out  in  the  mountains.  One  of  the 
old  men  seemed  at  first  rather  undecided  about 
the  matter,  as  though  it  were  no  trifling  thing 
thus  to  give  away  a  privilege  which  might  prove  to 
be  a  valuable  one,  so  he  stood  aside  and  thought 
it  all  over.  Finally  he  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  looked  deliberately  at  his  companion, 
and  said:  "Now,  since  we  think,  Michael,  what 
is  the  objection  ?  Can  ye  think  of  inny  ? " 
Michael  stood  for  a  moment  scratching  his  head 
in  the  most  intensely  thoughtful  manner,  then 
he  said,  "No,  dommed  if  I  can!"  And  with  this 
decision  reached  they  got  in  line  and  I  photo- 
graphed the  entire  group. 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 


Upper  Lake  —  Killarney. 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  67 

Leaving  the  market  square,  I  strolled  leisurely 
through  the  long  main  street  of  the  town,  past 
the  suburbs,  and  into  the  green  fields  of  the 
country.  From  the  vantage  ground  of  a  high 
grassy  hill  I  looked  over  towards  the  south  and 
west  where  the  tall  blue  mountains  stood  above 
the  Lakes  of  Killarney.  It  was  a  showery  day, 
and  a  mist  now  and  then  passed  below  the 
mountains'  summits,  obscuring  their  green  sides 
with  skeins  of  rain. 

Somewhat  below  me  stretched  the  broad 
demesne  of  the  Earl  of  Kenmare,  the  owner  of 
that  whole  vast  countryside,  including  the  lake 
front,  many  extensive  old  ruins,  and  the  entire  town 
of  Killarney.  The  fine  mansion  of  the  Kenmare 
estate,  a  very  extensive  castellated  structure  in 
red  sandstone,  recently  erected,  is  about  a  mile 
from  the  center  of  the  town.  One  may  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  private  demesne,  which  is  shut  out 
from  the  public  on  every  side  by  tall  stone  walls, 
upon  the  payment  of  a  sixpence  at  any  one  of 
several  gates.  The  grounds  are  handsomely 
kept,  and  contain  points  where  extensive  views 
of  the  lakes  may  be  obtained. 

It  is  said  that  about  a  hundred  years  ago  the 
town  of  Killarney  was  entirely  rebuilt  by  the 


68  SHAMROCK-LAND 

landlord  who  wished  to  make  there  a  model 
town.  He  left  room  behind  every  dwelling  for 
a  garden,  and  provided  other  attractions  for  the 
villagers.  In  the  leases,  however,  he  failed  to 
embody  a  clause  prohibiting  the  use  of  the  garden 
spaces  for  other  purposes,  and  as  a  consequence 
the  tenants,  taking  advantage  of  the  Uberty  al- 
lowed them,  built  cheaper  houses,  in  some  cases 
mere  hovels,  upon  the  leased  areas,  and  sublet 
them  to  other  tenants.  This  apparently  is  the 
reason  why  there  are  so  many  poor  cabin-like 
structures  on  all  the  lanes  and  back  streets  of  the 
little  town. 

Coming  back  into  the  town,  I  stopped  at  a 
little  corner  pharmacy,  or  "medical  hall,"  as  the 
Irish  would  call  it,  and  made  a  few  minor  pur- 
chases. The  proprietors  were  particularly  kind 
to  me,  and  conversed  with  me  for  some  time 
upon  Ireland,  especially  in  its  relation  to  England. 
I  asked  if  it  were  really  true  that  the  Irish  hate 
England  at  this  time.  *'I  suppose,"  said  my 
newly  made  acquaintance,  "that  the  word  which 
you  use  is  the  proper  one.  Yes,  we  hate  them!" 
His  statement  reminded  me  of  a  conversation 
which  I  had  had  not  many  days  before  with  an 
Irish  priest.     He  said,  "Yes,  we  hate  them,  and 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  69 

we  thank  God  for  the  blessed  privilege  of  hating 
under  the  circumstances.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  a  holy  hatred  — a  hatred  that  edifies." 

Just  outsideof  the  pharmacy  stood  two  healthy, 
strong  young  policemen,  or  constables.  They 
talked  with  me  for  some  time  about  their  duties, 
and  related  some  interesting  experiences.  They 
were  a  part  of  a  system  which  is  bitterly  dis- 
tasteful to  the  average  Irishman.  The  Govern- 
ment of  Britain  maintains  a  small  army  of  twelve 
thousand  constabulary  in  Ireland,  their  barracks 
being  estabUshed  in  all  parts  of  the  island,  in- 
cluding the  most  remote  country  districts.  The 
Irish  bitterly  resent  this  police  supervision,  and 
in  speaking  of  them  prefer  to  characterize  them 
with  the  term,  "Government  military  spies." 
There  are,  however,  comparatively  few  arrests 
in  recent  years,  and  clashes  between  the  con- 
stabulary and  the  people  are  becoming  less  and 
less  frequent. 

I  moved  across  the  street  where  a  middle- 
aged  woman  of  pleasant  face  was  presiding 
over  a  provender  stand  and  dispensing  eatables 
of  various  kinds  to  barefoot  boys  and  young 
men  who  happened  to  pass.  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  engaging  this  good-natured  seller  of  goodies 


70  SHAMROCK-LAND 

in  conversation.  Fully  a  dozen  young  men  and 
boys,  most  of  them  evidently  village  loafers, 
stood  about  me  listening  to  what  I  had  to  say 
about  America,  now  and  then,  in  characteristic 
Irish  manner,  putting  in  a  telling  question.  It 
seemed  that  most  of  them  could  tell  at  a  glance 
that  I  was  an  American;  and  they  could  not 
let  an  American  pass  without  notice.  Like 
most  of  the  Irish,  they  appeared  to  love  the 
**grate  counthry"  across  the  Atlantic,  and  they 
were  willing  to  suffer  many  an  inconvenience  to 
do  a  western  traveler  a  good  turn. 

I  noticed  that  every  now  and  then  a  small 
boy  would  come  along,  give  the  lady  a  farthing 
or  a  ha'penny,  get  a  handful  of  something  out 
of  a  round  wooden  box,  stuff  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  go  off  chewing  happily.  The  substance 
looked  like  dried  rose  petals,  but  I  was  told 
that  it  was  a  kind  of  a  seaweed  which  was  very 
wholesome  indeed.  *'Foine  f'r  the  diegistion!" 
explained  one  of  the  young  men.  "Virry  salty 
and  good.  Thry  it  at  my  expinse."  They  all, 
including  the  old  lady,  insisted  upon  my  tasting 
this  sea  product,  but  I  told  them  that  I  had  just 
had  breakfast  and  seldom  ate  anything  between 
meals. 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  71 

Upon  the  stand  also  were  turnips,  carrots, 
potatoes,  and  a  great  pan  of  extraordinarily  large 
gooseberries.  I  bought  a  pound  of  the  berries 
for  a  penny,  and  found  them  to  be  excellently 
flavored.  There  was  also  upon  the  stand  a  box 
containing  about  a  peck  of  snails  which  were 
selling  rapidly,  the  small  boys  purchasing  them 
readily  at  a  ha'penny  for  a  handful.  I  asked 
what  they  were,  and  the  old  woman  called  them 
by  a  name  which  I  could  not  catch,  though  it 
was  repeated  to  me  several  times,  not  only  by 
the  old  lady,  but  also  by  several  of  the  obliging 
bystanders. 

*'Jist  think  of  it!"  said  the  kind-hearted  old 
dispenser  of  goodies,  "the  gintleman  has  niver 
tasted  inny  of  this  food.  These  is  foine;  jist 
thry  one!"  And  before  I  knew  what  she  was 
doing  or  could  interpose  an  objection,  she  pulled 
a  hairpin  out  of  her  hair,  twisted  it  into  the  snail 
shell,  pried  the  slimy  creature  out  and  had  it 
almost  in  my  mouth  as  I  dodged  backwards.  I 
bade  her  a  too  hasty  good  day,  at  the  risk  of 
sacrificing  all  my  American  manners;  but  I 
simply  had  to  do  this,  for  I  had  not  long  before 
had  a  most  severe  case  of  seasickness,  and  with- 
out a  change  of  scene  and  thought  I  could  not 


72  SHAMROCK-LAND 

have  contained  myself  another  minute  if  my  Hfe 
had  depended  upon  it. 

I  was  afterwards  informed  by  an  Irishman 
that  what  I  took  to  be  snails  was  a  species  of 
snail-like  shell  fish  brought  in  from  the  seashore. 
It  was  considered  in  that  section  to  be  excellent 
food. 

Idly  rambling  about  the  town,  talking  to  such 
of  the  inhabitants  as  I  met  in  the  way,  I  entered 
some  of  the  small  shops  and  even  dwellings.  On 
the  back  streets  of  Killarney,  as  elsewhere  in 
rural  Ireland,  the  front  doors  of  the  dwellings 
open  on  a  level  with  the  street,  and  not  one 
house  in  a  dozen  has  anything  except  a  dirt  or 
rough  stone  floor. 

It  was  a  showery  day  —  what  day  is  not  in 
Ireland  ?  —  and  whenever  a  hard,  cold  shower 
would  come  over,  chickens,  geese,  ducks,  cats, 
dogs,  and  children  would  scramble  over  each 
other  to  get  into  the  house.  When  the  shower 
was  over,  they  would  come  out  again  to  wade 
and  wallow  or  scratch  or  play  in  the  mud  and 
dirt  of  the  gutters. 

There  was  one  long  string  of  geese  in  Killarney 
that  appeared  to  be  ubiquitous.  They  seemed 
to  have  the  freedom  of  the  town.     They  moved 


>^ 


Ui 


'i  ■ 

'■if 

1 

■  f 

1  ,V  V 

V 

'.^\ 

1-',' ' 

\ 

M' 

*j 

t -'•  .1  Jt'-W*' 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY 


73 


swiftly,  and  did  not  seem  to  care  particularly 
where  they  went.  These  geese  that  day  were 
about  the  wettest  and  dirtiest  that  I  saw  any- 
where about  me,  and  I  am  sure  their  impudence 
and  boldness  surpassed  their  dirtiness.  They 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  indifferent  as  to  whose 
house  they  entered  and  into  whose  dinner  pots 
they  thrust  their  dirty  heads. 

I  saw  these  geese  diving  and  playing  in  a 
gutter  running  with  black  filthy  water  just  after 
a  shower,  and  then  file  suddenly  into  a  house 
where  a  number  of  fowls  and  animals  of  various 
kinds  had  congregated.  The  old  woman  who 
Hved  there  could  stand  much,  and  she  showed  by 
her  countenance  that  she  had  gone  through  a 
great  deal  of  rough  treatment,  but  there  was  a 
limit  to  her  endurance.  I  heard  her  mutter 
something  about  "dirthy  spalpeens"  and  "long- 
nicked  divils"  as  she  grabbed  hold  of  a  broom- 
stick; and  for  the  next  five  minutes  the  air  was 
filled  with  goose  feathers,  cat  yowls,  table  legs, 
dirty  water,  peat  ashes,  mud,  dog  hair,  skillet 
tops,  and  bitter  ejaculations,  mixed  in  intricate 
and  unutterable  confusion.  When  finally  the 
mists  had  cleared  away  I  saw  the  string  of  geese, 
with   feathers  awry,   passing  hastily  around  a 


74 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


corner,  a  dog  was  limping  rapidly  off,  and  a 
barefoot  boy,  with  breeches  legs  extending  al- 
most down  to  his  ankles,  stood  just  outside  of 
the  doorway  almost  dying  from  laughter. 

Still  strolling  around,  I  entered  a  very  small 
shop,  somewhat  below  the  level  of  the  sidewalk, 
on  one  of  the  principal  streets  of  the  town.  In 
the  window  were  a  few  small  packages  of  gro- 
ceries and  ordinary  household  necessities.  I 
wished  to  purchase  a  cake  of  chocolate,  and  I 
used  this  as  an  excuse  for  entering  the  little 
shop.  Two  middle-aged  women  of  real  Irish 
stock  sat  on  opposite  sides  of  the  rude  counter, 
apparently  gossiping  as  all  other  women  at 
times  are  supposed  to  do.  When  I  entered,  they 
asked  me  with  characteristic  Irish  politeness  of 
manner  what  I  wished  to  purchase  and  how 
they  might  be  able  to  serve  me.  They  saw  at  a 
glance,  as  they  told  me,  that  I  was  an  American, 
and  this  fact  made  them  particularly  anxious 
to  treat  me  kindly.  Both  of  them  had  many  rela- 
tives and  friends  beyond  the  Atlantic;  and  while 
I  was  talking  to  them  about  cities  and  places  of 
which  they  made  inquiry,  two  little  girls,  a 
daughter  of  each  of  the  ladies,  came  into  the 
room  from  the  back  door,  struggling  fiercely  with 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY 


75 


each  other  over  some  point  of  difference  in  their 
play.  The  mothers  were  much  disturbed  that  an 
American  gentleman  should  thus  witness  such  a 
display  of  Irish  physical  prowess  in  their  home, 
so  they  began  to  make  all  kinds  of  excuses  for 
the  httle  tots.  Finally  they  threatened  to  let  the 
gentleman  take  both  of  them  across  the  ocean 
with  him  unless  they  would  at  once  discontinue 
fighting.  This  threat  had  the  desired  effect,  and 
within  five  minutes  they  were  in  the  very  best  of 
humor,  chatting  with  me  and  telling  me  all 
kinds  of  wondrous  things  about  their  toys  and 
playthings. 

The  ladies  wished  me  to  see  the  picture  of  a 
famous  cow  that  had  taken  many  medals  and 
prizes  at  cattle  fairs  and  shows  in  various  places. 
They  took  me  into  an  adjoining  room,  ap- 
parently the  dining-room,  where  there  was  a 
table  set  with  white  bread  and  a  plate  of  golden 
Irish  butter  upon  it.  I  noticed  that  a  dead  crow 
was  suspended  by  a  string  from  some  point 
above,  and  allowed  to  swing  immediately  in  front 
of  the  window  of  the  room.  I  inquired  what 
this  meant,  and  was  told  that  the  crows  were  so 
bad  in  Killarney  that  they  would  come  even  into 
the  house  and  steal  unless  they  in  this  strange 


76  SHAMROCK-LAND 

manner  were  frightened  away.  They  could  not 
shoot  them  because  they  were  prohibited  by 
law  from  keeping  fire-arms  in  the  house  without 
a  permit  and  the  payment  of  a  heavy  fee.  For 
this  reason  the  crows  and  rooks  had  almost 
taken  possession  of  Ireland. 

While  we  were  still  talking  about  "Amuriky," 
an  old  Irishman,  seemingly  just  from  the  pages 
of  a  comic  weekly,  came  into  the  room  from  the 
street.  He  was  almost  a  perfect  specimen  of 
the  real  Irishmen  of  the  remote  inland  districts. 
He  did  not  wait  for  the  ladies  to  introduce  him, 
but  introduced  himself  to  me  and  told  me  in  a 
most  cordial  manner  that  I  was  particularly 
welcome  to  the  premises.  He  was  father-in-law 
of  both  of  these  ladies,  his  two  sons  having 
married  them  some  years  before.  He  lived  here 
with  them,  picking  up  a  stray  penny  wherever  one 
might  be  found.  I  told  him  that  I  was  intensely 
interested  in  the  Irish  people,  particularly  those 
of  the  peasantry  class;  and  he  informed  me  that 
he  knew  all  that  there  was  to  be  known  about 
them,  as  he  himself  happened  to  be  one  of  them 
and  had  lived  for  a  good  many  years  in  intimate 
contact  with  them. 

He  told  me  that  it  would  be  one  of  the  pleasures 


PEOPLE  OF   KILLARNEY  77 

of  his  life  to  go  with  me  about  the  town  and  its 
environs  and  show  me  the  sights.  The  ladies 
forthwith  put  in  strenuous  objection  to  this, 
declaring  that  they  would  not  consent  to  his 
going  with  me  unless  I  would  promise  faithfully 
not  to  give  him  anything  to  drink.  "Och!  he 
is  a  terrible  dhrinker!"  one  of  them  said;  and 
the  other  added,  "And  he  is  that  foolish  whin 
he  gits  a-dhrinkin*  that  we  can't  have  any  peace 
about  the  primises." 

I  gave  the  ladies  my  faithful  promise  not  to 
give  the  old  fellow  anything  to  drink,  and  they 
gave  their  consent  to  his  going  with  me.  As 
soon  as  we  had  gotten  out  of  the  door  he  said  in 
a  contemptuous  way:  "Yis,  the  women  thinks 
they  know  about  all  there  is  to  know.  Dhrink, 
is  it  ?  And  I  the  greathest  timp'rance  worruker 
in  all  county  Kerry!"  His  nose  indicated  what 
kind  of  "worruk"  he  was  accustomed,  when  he 
had  the  opportunity,  to  do.     But  he  continued: 

"Women  is  that  shtrange  I  sometimes  sit  an' 
wonder.  Is  it  thrue  in  Amuriky  that  the  gintle 
six  is  of  such  a  nature?  Och!  what  mysteries! 
And  thin,  more  mysteries  to  thimsilves  than 
to  innybody  ilse."  Then  he  grew  quiet  and 
thoughtful    as   we   walked   along.     Coming    to 


78  SHAMROCK-LAND 

himself  again,  he  looked  down  at  his  old  clothes 
and  began  to  excuse  himself  for  his  appearance. 
His  dress  was  indeed  shabby,  but  his  very  face 
showed  that  a  kind  heart  had  its  home  in  his 
bosom,  and  I  felt  sure  that  he  had  no  grudge 
against  anybody  or  any  living  thing  in  all  the 
world. 

We  set  out  under  his  direction  to  walk  down 
towards  the  lakes,  those  sheets  of  gray  water 
lying  in  the  shadows  of  the  tall  green  moun- 
tains. The  road  along  which  we  walked  was 
smooth  and  clean,  and  densely  shaded  with  wide- 
spreading,  gnarled  old  trees,  bearing  upon  them 
the  weight  of  centuries.  Now  and  then  we 
passed  an  old  landmark  —  a  stone  set  in  the 
ground,  some  old  cottage  buried  under  the  trees, 
or  some  reputed  resort  of  the  fairies.  One  tree, 
immediately  in  the  way,  marked  with  stones  set 
about  it,  had  witnessed  a  most  tragic  occurrence 
under  its  branches.  A  tall  stone  wall,  extend- 
ing from  the  town  to  the  lake,  a  distance  of 
nearly  two  miles,  shut  out  completely  from  view 
the  mountains  and  the  lakes.  Over  this  wall 
was  the  lordly  demesne  of  the  Earl  of  Kenmare. 
My  companion  told  me  that  the  estate  had  with- 
in recent  years  passed  through  financial  stress, 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  79 

but  that  he  hoped  it  would  all  come  out  right 
in  the  end.  Anyway,  the  people  in  and  about 
Killarney  were  living,  and  now  and  then  they 
got  something  good  to  eat  and  a  drop  to  drink. 

On  our  walk  we  met  many  semi-beggars  — 
men,  women,  and  boys  —  who  wished  to  sell  us 
shoestrings,  cheap  souvenirs,  post  cards,  bog-oak 
pipes  and  other  trifling  gewgaws  hardly  worth 
the  carrying  away.  My  old  companion  did  his 
utmost  to  protect  me  from  the  most  annoying 
importunities  of  these  people,  and  he  even  went 
farther  than  my  conscience  would  approve  in  his 
efforts  to  befriend  me.  He  told  one  of  them  on 
the  side  that  I  was  a  famous  nobleman  traveling 
incognito,  and  that  too  many  words  from  him 
would  surely  land  him  in  a  dungeon  in  the  Tower 
of  London.  The  effect  was  magical.  To  an- 
other he  said  I  was  "Prisident  of  New  Yorruk," 
and  that  I  did  not  wish  to  be  worried.  To 
several  others  he  made  the  statement  that  I  was 
in  a  great  hurry,  and  that  I  had  to  be  at  the 
station  within  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour. 
This  when  I  was  two  miles  away  and  afoot! 

At  length  we  reached  old  Ross  Castle,  one  of 
the  best  preserved  ruins  of  that  entire  region. 
The   castle   is   built   immediately   upon   Lough 


8o  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Leane,  or  the  Lower  Lake,  on  an  island  which 
is  connected  with  the  mainland  by  a  very  narrow 
neck  of  land.  The  ancient  building  is  a  most 
picturesque  one,  massive  and  strong,  with  a 
growth  of  ivy  covering  it  almost  completely  from 
the  foundations  to  the  lofty  tower.  The  castle 
was  erected  several  centuries  ago  by  one  of  the 
noted  O'Donoghues,  a  chieftain  and  fighter,  well 
known  in  Irish  history.  In  early  days  the  castle 
had  a  bloody  history,  but  it  is  noted  to-day  because 
it  was  the  last  stronghold  in  Munster  Ireland 
to  surrender  to  the  forces  of  the  Commonwealth 
in  1652  when  Cromwell  and  his  lieutenants  over- 
ran Ireland  intent  upon  wholesale  butchery. 

A  little  distance  away  on  the  eastern  shore  of 
the  lake  were  the  ruins  of  another  old  castle,  and 
a  little  farther  still  were  the  ruins  of  Muckross 
Abbey,  founded  by  the  Franciscans  in  1340. 
These  ruins  are  among  the  most  famous  in  Ire- 
land, and  the  spot  itself  is  entrancingly  beautiful. 
In  the  opposite  direction  was  the  island  of  Innis- 
fallen,  noted  in  literature  and  history.  From 
the  shore  this  httle  island  appears  to  be  but  a 
mass  of  evergreens,  but  when  one  approaches  it 
across  the  lake  in  a  boat  he  sees  that  beneath  the 
trees  there  are  glades,  and  lawns,  and  paths,  and 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 

The  Lower  Lake,  Kfllarney. 

From  Lord  Kenmare's  Mansion. 


PEOPLE  OF   KILLARNEY  8i 

ruins,  that  give  the  appearance  of  a  veritable 
fairyland.  So  rich  is  the  soil  that  the  arbutus 
and  hollies  grow  into  great  spreading  trees. 
Buried  in  a  dense  bower  of  immense,  drooping 
trees  are  the  ruins  of  an  old  abbey  founded  in 
the  year  650  a.d.,  by  St.  Finian.  Here  in  this 
wonderful  old  building  the  Annals  of  Innisfallen 
were  written.  This  famous  historical  work  gives 
us  much  of  what  we  know  of  early  Irish  history. 
The  Annals  also  state  that  in  the  year  1 180,  when 
this  abbey  held  vast  stores  of  riches,  both  silver 
and  gold,  Mildwin,  son  of  Daniel  O'Donoghue, 
plundered  the  treasuries  and  slayed  many  of  the 
keepers  in  the  very  cemetery  of  the  McCarthys. 
One  is  almost  overwhelmed  as  he  contem- 
plates the  wondrous  beauty  of  this  dank,  shady 
island  with  its  ruins.  It  is  scarcely  a  wonder 
that  it  inspired  the  Irish  poet  Yeats  to  write 
what  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  thought  was  the 
most  exquisite  poem  of  modern  times: 

"  And  I  shall  have  some  peace  there, 
For  peace  comes  dropping  slow, 
Dropping  from  the  veils  of  the  morning 
To  where  the  cricket  sings; 
There  midnight's  all  a-glimmer 
And  noon  a  purple  glow, 
And  evening  full  of  the  linnet's  wings. 


82  SHAMROCK-LAND 

"  I  will  arise  and  go  now, 
For  always,  night  or  day, 
I  hear  lake  water  lapping, 
With  low  sounds  by  the  shore; 
While  I  stand  on  the  roadway, 
Or  on  the  pavements  gray, 
I  hear  it  in  the  deep  heart's  core." 

To  Thackeray  this  spot  was  *' quiet,  innocent, 
and  tender."  Perhaps  the  sunshine  falHng  across 
Purple  Mountain  upon  the  ruins  remained  the 
longest  in  the  memory  of  Thomas  Moore.  Said 
he: 

"  Sweet  Innisfallen,  long  shall  dwell 

In  memory's  dream  that  sunny  smile 
Which  o'er  thee  on  that  evening  fell 
When  first  I  saw  thy  fairy  isle." 

It  was  the  view  through  the  dense  shade  of 
bending  yew  and  holly,  of  the  cliffs  of  the  Eagle's 
Nest,  past  Glena  Wood  and  beyond  the  Meeting 
of  the  Waters,  which  inspired  Alfred  Austin  to 
say: 

"The  first,  the  final,  the  deepest  and  most 
enduring  impression  of  Killarney  is  that  of 
beauty  unspeakably  tender,  which  puts  on  at 
times  a  garb  of  grandeur  and  a  look  of  awe, 
only  in  order  to  heighten  by  passing  contrast 
the  sense  of  soft,  insinuating  loveliness.  How 
the  missel-thrushes  sing,  as  well  they  may!   How 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  83 

the  streams  and  runnels  gurgle  and  leap  and 
laugh!  For  the  sound  of  journeying  water  is 
never  out  of  your  ears;  the  feeling  of  the  moist, 
the  fresh,  the  vernal  is  never  out  of  your  heart. 
There  is  nothing  in  England  or  Scotland  as 
beautiful  as  Killarney;  and  if  mountain,  wood, 
and  water,  harmoniously  blent,  constitute  the 
most  perfect  and  adequate  loveHness  that  nature 
presents,  it  surely  must  be  owned  that  it  has,  all 
the  world  over,  no  superior." 

The  boatman  sat  for  a  long  time  on  the  shore 
near  the  old  Ross  Castle  and  talked  to  me  of 
his  life  and  his  little  mountain  home.  Ah!  how 
poorly  he  lived  there!  In  summers  he  rowed 
the  tourists  upon  the  lake,  but  och !  how  long  the 
dreary  winters  were  when  never  a  visitor  came. 
He  would  have  gone  to  America  long,  long  ago, 
only  he  could  never  get  enough  money  together 
to  take  him  and  his  little  family.  He  supposed 
he  would  have  to  live  all  his  years  here  upon  the 
lakes.  But  he  asked  me  many  questions  about 
the  great  country  beyond  the  Atlantic  where  so 
many  of  his  friends  had  gone.  Indeed,  was  it 
not  the  money  which  they  sent  back  that  paid 
all  the  rents  of  Killarney  ?     Yes,  and  this  was 


84  SHAMROCK-LAND 

true  all  through  Ireland.  The  old  people  would 
starve  if  it  were  not  for  the  help  which  they  got 
from  the  boys  and  girls  in  America. 

And  then  my  old  Killarney  guide  wished  also 
to  ask  me  some  questions  about  America.  He 
had  long  had  the  curiosity  to  know  what  kind 
of  telephone  poles  they  had  over  there.  Were 
the  fences  made  of  stone  as  in  Ireland  ?  Were 
the  chickens  mostly  white  ones  or  speckled  ? 
And  he  had  heard  the  freight  cars  were  very 
large.  But  he  was  afraid  he  could  not  stand  the 
cHmate.  He  had  heard  it  was  "tremindously" 
hot  over  there  in  summer,  and  too  much  heat 
made  him  dizzy  in  the  head.  He  said  he  had 
heard  the  wages  there  were  very  high.  In  Kerry 
they  were  low.  A  good,  stout  farmer's  boy 
would  work  a  whole  year  for  ten  pounds  and 
board.  The  board  ?  Well,  it  was  only  fair, 
mostly  bread  and  a  little  butter,  with  "tay"  in 
the  evenings.  But  meat  was  to  be  had  some- 
times, perhaps  not  oftener  than  once  a  week. 

The  lake  water  was  lapping  at  our  feet.  The 
old  man  looked  down  at  his  worn  old  shoes.  Ah! 
he  hated  to  be  seen  out  wearing  such  shoes,  but 
indeed  they  were  the  best  he  had.  The  truth 
was  he  had  buried  his  old  wife  not  long  before 


PEOPLE  OF  KILLARNEY  85 

and  it  had  taken  all  his  money  to  pay  the  under- 
taking expenses.  Still  he  felt  that  he  had  done 
his  part.  It  was  '*a  grate  funeral  and  a  moighty 
wake." 

Och!  how  he  would  like  to  get  to  a  country 
where  there  was  a  plenty  of  money!  He  had 
heard  that  even  the  farm  hands  in  America  got 
good  wages.  But  what  did  they  eat  ?  I  told 
him  they  could  get  meat  three  times  a  day. 

"Glory  be  to  God!"  he  said  in  amazement. 
"And  do  they  get  tay  to  dhrink,  and  now  and 
then  some  ale  and  porther?" 

I  told  him  they  usually  had  all  the  tea  and 
coffee  they  wished  to  drink,  and  they  could  gen- 
erally get  beer  and  porter  when  they  wanted  it. 

"Glory  be  to  God  on  high!"  he  exclaimed, 
rising  from  his  seat.  But  he  turned  sadly  away 
and  sighed.  "I've  waited  too  long,"  he  said. 
"I'm  too  old!" 

It  was  getting  late.  A  gray  mist  was  settling 
over  the  lakes  and  burying  the  islands  out  of 
sight.  We  passed  the  ivy-clad  castle  and  walked 
up  the  old  roadway  that  reeked  with  the  dense 
perfume  of  flowers  and  breathed  forth  the  odors 
of  the  fresh  showers  of  June.  The  sun  had 
sunken  far  down  behind  the  mountains,  but  its 


86  SHAMROCK-LAND 

rays  had  turned  the  clouds  into  gold.  Some 
of  the  sheen  fell  athwart  the  summits  of  the 
lofty  blue  mountains  above  us,  and  lighted  them 
up  with  a  quiet,  unspeakable  glory. 


'  "W^i 


c 


o 


o 


o 


CHAPTER  IV 

A     RAMBLE     THROUGH     THE     GOLDEN     VALE    OF 

TIPPERARY 

I  HAD  heard  much  of  the  Golden  Vale  of 
Tipperary.  Guide-books  say  it  is  "the  most 
fertile  tract  of  Ireland";  travelers  who  have 
seen  that  portion  of  the  "ould  sod"  write  of  it 
as  a  "prosperous  and  beautiful  agricultural 
region";  and  those  Irish  people  who  have 
found  their  way  to  America  speak  of  it  with  a 
sparkle  in  their  eyes  and  a  pride  in  their  voices 
as  "the  counthry  God  made  afther  His  own 
pathern." 

I  was  led  to  believe,  from  what  I  had  heard 
and  read,  that  that  portion  of  south  central 
Ireland  known  as  the  "Golden  Vale"  occupies 
a  position  of  rural  supremacy  with  regard  to 
the  Emerald  Isle  comparable  to  that  which  the 
Shenandoah  Valley  does  to  the  State  of  Virginia 
or  the  Blue  Grass  Region  does  to  Kentucky. 

I  was  on  my  way  thither  one  cold,  showery 
June   morning,   and   I   expected   to   see   before 

87 


88  SHAMROCK-LAND 

night  something  of  a  "foine  counthry."  In  my 
compartment  of  the  train  bound  from  south- 
western Ireland  to  Dubhn,  the  capital,  on  the 
central  eastern  coast  of  the  island,  were  two 
married  couples,  apparently  somewhat  under 
middle  age.  From  the  manner  in  which  they 
were  dressed  and  the  accent  so  noticeable  in 
their  speech,  I  judged  they  were  from  Scotland. 

One  of  the  gentlemen,  apparently  a  prosper- 
ous business  man,  was  somewhat  overbold,  I 
thought,  for  he  was  actually  talking  politics 
here  in  Munster  Ireland.  One  does  not  have 
to  be  an  eavesdropper  to  hear  many  interest- 
ing things  on  the  trains  of  the  British  Isles. 
Conversations  are  thrust  upon  one.  This 
Scotchman,  red-faced  and  tweed-attired,  was 
descanting  volubly  upon  political  topics,  and 
seemed  not  to  be  loath  to  express  his  opinions 
of  Ireland  and  the  Home  Rule  question.  Said 
he,  sometimes  speaking  directly  to  his  compan- 
ions, sometimes  apparently  with  more  or  less 
introspection: 

**If  they  had  home  rule  what  would  the  Irish 
do  with  it  ?  Would  it  satisfy  them  ?  Are  they 
ever  satisfied  with  anything  except  fighting 
somebody  or  something?     Ah!  right  there's  the 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  89 

secret  of  it  all  Fighting  is  in  their  blood,  in- 
herited from  a  thousand  generations  of  fighters. 
They've  been  fighting  from  history's  very  morn- 
ing. Their  first  weapons  were  rough  stones 
and  dead  Hmbs  from  trees;  then  they  learned 
how  to  dress  flints  with  which  to  mutilate  each 
other.  From  this  they  went  to  the  short  sword 
and  the  spear,  thence  to  the  cross-bow,  the 
musket  and  the  cannon,  tapering  off  with  the 
kippeen  and  the  shillalah.  Now  most  of  their 
fighting  is  done  with  the  tongue  around  the 
ballot  boxes,  with  the  policeman's  billy  in  alley 
disturbances,  or  with  the  naked  fist  in  the  prize 
rings!" 

"Oh!  they  are  a  great  people  in  their  way," 
he  was  going  on  to  say,  "a  wonderful  people: 
but  constitutionally  they  are  unable  to  govern 
themselves.  They  are  too  visionary,  too  emo- 
tional —  quite  too  passionate." 

Then  he  undertook  to  explain  how  all  the 
vast  commercial  interests  of  Protestant  or  Ulster 
Ireland  would  suffer  if  the  Irish  Catholic  major- 
ity were  given  the  upper  hand,  and  concluded 
by  saying  that  he  as  a  Scotchman  had  abso- 
lutely no  grudge  against  the  Irish;  upon  the 
contrary,  he  admired  them  greatly  for  a  num- 


90  SHAMROCK-LAND 

ber  of  their  traits,  but  personally  he  did  not 
think  they  should  have  home  rule.  It  was 
against  common  sense,  and,  indeed,  contrary  to 
the  teachings  of  history. 

A  few  days  before  this  I  had  heard  a  Catholic 
priest  say  that  no  Irishman  worth  taking  into 
consideration  would  ever  be  satisfied  with  any- 
thing less  than  total  and  complete  home  rule 
for  Ireland.  The  country  would  not  prosper, 
nor  did  the  average  Irishman  wish  it  to  prosper, 
so  long  as  it  was  connected  under  the  present 
arrangements  with  Great  Britain.  Let  no  one 
labor  under  the  delusion,  he  said,  that  Ireland 
would  ever  give  up  the  fight  until  she  became 
free. 

Such  conversations  one  may  hear  anywhere 
in  Ireland  if  he  chooses  to  listen.  Every  Irish 
newspaper  is  filled  with  discussions  of  the  land 
and  tenure  question,  the  Gaelic  League,  or 
local  Irish  politics.  The  Irishman  delights  in 
long  verbatim  speeches  and  page-long  articles 
dealing  with  the  intricacies  of  the  work  of  the 
reform  societies  or  the  Congested  Districts 
Board.  And  he  is  ready  at  all  times  to  discuss 
any   phase   of  the   so-called   ''Irish   question." 

This  "question"  is  not  a  new  one.     It  dates 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  91 

from  the  year  1171  when  Ireland  was  conquered 
by  the  Normans  and  brought  under  partial  con- 
trol of  England.  The  years  in  between  have 
been  filled  with  striving  and  fighting,  the  Irish- 
men all  admit;  while  perhaps  the  most  noted 
living  Irishman  insists  that  it  was  the  Irish- 
man's predisposition  to  strife  which  first  brought 
the  island  under  the  dominion  of  England. 

Reliable  Irish  history  relates  that  during  the 
early  centuries  of  the  Christian  era  Ireland  was 
divided  into  many  tribes  and  small  kingdoms 
among  which  there  was  almost  constant  war. 
But  after  the  introduction  of  Christianity  in 
the  fifth  century  the  island  became  a  center  of 
culture  which  far  eclipsed  England  or  any  other 
portion  of  western  Europe.  Its  teachers  are 
said  to  have  founded  the  University  of  Paris; 
and  learned  men  from  its  shores  visited  all  north- 
ern and  semi-pagan  Europe,  giving  religious 
and  secular  instruction.  But  when  the  Danes 
came  in  the  ninth  and  tenth  centuries,  plunder- 
ing, thieving,  and  murdering  along  the  coasts, 
the  Irish  were  literally  worn  out  in  their  attempts 
to  drive  them  from  the  country.  Irish  civiliza- 
tion and  culture  declined  greatly  on  account  of 
these    disastrous    wars.     Finally,    however,    all 


92  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  tribes  of  the  island  were  united  under  the 
leadership  of  Brian  Boru,  perhaps  the  most 
brilliant  organizer  and  leader  of  the  Irish  race, 
and  victory  after  victory  was  gained  over  the 
Danes.  At  Clontarf,  the  last  great  victory, 
Brian  in  returning  to  his  tent  was  killed  by  a 
concealed  enemy.     This  was  in  the  year  1014. 

After  Brian's  death  the  island  was  again 
divided  into  four  kingdoms,  Ulster  in  the  north, 
Leinster  in  the  east,  Munster  in  the  south,  and 
Connaught  in  the  west.  These  were  subdivided 
into  innumerable  kingdoms  and  principalities. 
Then  fighting  again  commenced  among  the 
island  kingdoms.  It  was  the  culmination  of 
these  quarrels,  relates  Justin  McCarthy,  which 
brought  about  union  with  England,  the  most 
unfortunate  event,  average  Irishmen  think,  of 
all  the  unfortunate  events  of  Irish  history.  It 
happened  in  this  wise: 

The  Lord  or  Chief  of  Brefni  had  a  beautiful 
wife  who  attracted  the  admiration  of  Dermot 
Macmurragh,  King  of  Leinster.  Dermot,  a 
reckless  warrior,  lover  of  the  chase,  semi-sav- 
age, and  unscrupulous  libertine,  proceeded  to 
Brefni's  castle  and  with  little  difficulty  per- 
suaded the  fair  Devorgilla  to  return  home  with 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY 


93 


him  and  become  queen  of  Leinster.  Brefni 
immediately  took  up  arms  to  avenge  the  out- 
rage, and  the  resuh  was  civil  war.  The  King 
of  Connaught,  the  nominal  supreme  head  of 
the  country,  took  sides  with  Brefni,  and  Der- 
mot  thought  it  best  to  escape  the  country. 
Henry  II  of  England  received  him  at  his  court, 
heard  his  story,  and  decided  to  invade  Ireland 
and  restore  its  equilibrium.  Sixteen  years  be- 
fore this  he  had  obtained  from  Pope  Adrian  IV 
a  Bull  of  Authority  over  Ireland,  on  the  ground 
of  the  alleged  ignorance  and  immorality  of  the 
people;  and  he  was  apparc.itly  happy  to  have 
this  excuse  for  going  over  to  possess  the  island. 

Robert  Fitz-Stephen,  a  Norman  knight,  with 
Dermot  as  guide,  crossed  the  channel  with  a 
small  army  of  knights,  men-at-arms,  and  Welsh 
archers.  The  Irish  kernes  found  the  English 
arms  and  horses  irresistible;  Wexford  was  taken, 
and  a  veritable  slaughter  ensued.  Dermot 
seized  the  severed  head  of  a  fallen  Irish  foeman 
and  with  his  teeth  tore  off  its  nose  and  its  lips, 
proving  the  brutal  savage  that  he  was. 

Then  came  Richard  of  Clare,  known  as 
"Strongbow,"  who  married  Dermot's  daughter 
Eva;  and  in  1171   Henry  himself  came  with  a 


94 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


large  army  and  overwhelmed  Irish  forces  in 
different  parts  of  the  island.  The  Norman 
conquest  was  partial,  but  from  that  day  to 
this  England  has  ruled  Ireland.  This  rule, 
tremendously  aggravated  by  the  Cromwellian 
massacres  and  the  battles  between  the  forces 
of  William  and  James,  and  more  than  all  by 
the  Ulster  dispossession  and  settlement,  has 
never  been  kindly  accepted  by  the  Irish  people. 
It  is  scarcely  a  wonder,  then,  that  a  grudge  of 
seven  hundred  and  forty  years'  standing  should 
be  considered  a  serious  matter  in  Ireland.  And 
it  is  not  strange  t  lat  a  traveler  should  hear 
discussion  of  the  old  question  even  in  the  grassy 
vale  of  Tipperary. 

We  passed  Mallow,  in  the  Blackwater  Valley, 
not  many  miles  above  the  charming  village  of 
Lismore,  whose  castle,  built  by  the  Earl  of 
Montaigne,  afterwards  King  John  of  England, 
is  now  one  of  the  twelve  residences  of  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Devonshire.  This  splendid 
castle,  it  may  be  noted,  has  for  many  years  been 
looked  upon  by  a  number  of  the  ultra-sanguine 
Irish  people  as  a  prospective  royal  residence  in 
case  anything  does  happen  to  make  Ireland 
again  a  nation. 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  95 

Traveling  northeastward,  we  passed  Butte- 
vant,  in  northern  county  Cork,  a  town  of  much 
former  splendor,  but  which  even  in  Edmund 
Spenser's  day  was  so  old  that  the  poet  said  in 
respect  to  it,  "the  ragged  ruins  breed  great 
ruth  and  pittie." 

Five  miles  northeast  of  the  town,  at  the  foot 
of  the  strangely  beautiful  Ballyhoura  Hills,  is 
Kilcolman  Castle,  the  home  of  Spenser,  where 
the  Faerie  Queene  was  composed.  Doneraile 
Park,  once  the  property  of  the  poet,  is  a  few 
miles  away  on  the  south. 

At  Charleville  we  passed  out  of  County  Cork 
into  County  Limerick.  Here  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Aherlow  we  caught  our  first  glimpse  of  the 
Golden  Vale.  The  Ballyhoura  Hills  and  the 
Galty  Mountains  lay  upon  our  south,  and  about 
us,  blackish  green,  was  a  rolling  country  of 
grass,  stretched  as  far  as  eye  could  see  into  the 
north,  the  east,  and  the  west.  Our  next  stop  was 
at  Limerick  Junction,  a  busy  railroad  station  out 
in  the  grassy  meadows,  twenty  miles  southeast 
of  Limerick,  an  ancient  Irish  city,  noted  for 
its  Treaty  Stone  and  its  fishing-hook  factories. 
At  Limerick  Junction  I  left  the  train  with  my 
baggage  and  began  to  look  about  me  at  the  sights. 


96  SHAMROCK-LAND 

The  railway  station  at  Limerick  Junction  was 
new  and  handsome,  and  was  equipped  with 
every  modern  convenience.  It  was  a  type  of 
the  buff-brick  stations  which  within  the  past 
few  years  have  been  erected  in  all  the  principal 
towns  and  at  important  railway  junctions  in  the 
island.  There  were  comfortable  waiting-rooms, 
lavatories,  and  news-stands,  but  by  far  the  most 
conspicuous  feature  of  the  building  was  the  bar, 
run  in  conjunction  with  the  restaurant,  which 
was  tended  by  a  number  of  unusually  hand- 
some young  girls.  The  bar  was  elaborately  and 
luxuriantly  equipped,  its  full  stock  of  choice 
liquors,  brandies  and  wines  being  in  full  view  of 
the  passing  multitudes.  If  one  wished  a  cup  of 
hot  chocolate  or  cocoa  or  a  slight  luncheon  he 
must  have  it  served  there  in  front  of  the  bar. 
To  one  with  the  slightest  tendency  in  the  direc- 
tion of  dissipation,  I  fancy  this  place  of  refresh- 
ment would  prove  irresistible. 

The  willingness  on  the  part  of  the  Irish  people 
to  allow  bars  in  their  railway  stations  is  one  proof 
of  the  fact  that  the  old  Irish  vice  still  exists  in 
the  island.  In  olden  days,  historians  and  trav- 
elers tell  us,  liquor  was  almost  if  not  altogether 
free  of  tax,  and  Ireland  was  given  over  to  drunk- 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  97 

enness.  Indeed,  in  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries  it  was  often  considered  a  mark 
of  hospitality  in  a  host  to  insist  that  his  guests  be 
made  drunk  when  under  his  rooftree.  Ingenious 
devices,  it  is  said,  were  invented  for  compelling 
intoxication.  In  some  cases  glasses  and  bottles 
were  provided  which  could  not  stand  and 
which  therefore  had  to  be  emptied  before  they 
could  be  laid  upon  the  table.  It  was  a  trick 
at  dinner  parties  for  hosts  to  keep  the  tea-kettle 
filled  with  hot  whisky  in  order  that  those  who 
attempted  to  weaken  their  punch  would  un- 
wittingly strengthen  it.  A  host  was  unmindful 
of  even  the  smaller  courtesies  if  he  allowed  his 
guests  to  get  up  from  a  festive  table  in  the 
usual  manner.  Most  of  the  men  had  to  be 
pulled  out  from  underneath  the  board.  An 
Irishman  drunk  was  an  Irishman  "all  in  his 
glory." 

Father  Theobald  Matthew,  a  Capuchin  friar, 
to  whom  a  statue  stands  in  Patrick  Street,  Cork, 
originated  a  crusade  against  drunkenness  in 
1838,  and  by  1840  he  had  upon  his  total  absti- 
nence rolls  a  total  of  two  million  five  hundred 
and  thirty  thousand  names.  From  that  time  an 
improvement   set  in,  and  drunkenness  became 


98  SHAMROCK-LAND 

much  less  frequent  everywhere  in  the  island. 
Since  Father  Matthew's  day,  however,  a  reac- 
tion has  set  in,  and  a  traveler  to-day  in  Ireland 
will  see  much  drunkenness.  The  attitude  of 
the  church  towards  drinking  is  less  favorable 
than  it  once  was,  but  efforts  against  the  liquor 
traffic  are  desultory  and  scattering,  and  accom- 
plish little.  It  is  said,  however,  that  this  is 
to  be  expected  since  so  many  of  the  clergy 
themselves  drink  regularly  and  sometimes  to 
excess.  Many  of  the  priests  are  sons  of  liquor 
dealers,  and  it  is  something  of  a  custom  for  the 
Irish  brewers  or  public-house  keepers  to  give 
one  of  their  sons  to  be  educated  for  the  priest- 
hood. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  CathoHc  priests  in 
Ireland,  himself,  I  believe,  a  total  abstainer, 
told  me  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
his  countrymen  have  little  right  to  grumble 
about  their  tax  bill  of  ;^9,ooo,ooo,  while  they 
cheerfully  and  hilariously  allowed  their  drink 
bill  to  total  ;^i 4,000,000  a  year,  and  this  too 
when  Ireland  of  all  countries  in  the  world  is 
the  least  able  to  afford  it. 

Mr.  T.  P.  O'Connor,  talking  to  me  about 
this  matter  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament  in  Lon- 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY 


99 


don,  told  me  that  while  the  drink  bill  of  Ireland 
was  reported  as  being  enormous  there  were 
extenuating  circumstances.  ''Drink,"  he  said, 
"has  been  called  'the  child  of  despondency,' 
though  it  is  also  the  child  of  hopeless  poverty. 
Give  the  Irish  a  brighter  outlook  and  their 
tendency  to  drink  will  no  doubt  be  diminished." 

But  whatever  arguments  may  be  offered  pro 
and  con,  the  disinterested  and  unprejudiced 
traveler  through  Ireland  would  certainly  feel 
more  comfortable  in  extending  his  sympathies 
to  the  Irish  people  in  their  troubles  if  he  did 
not  see  so  many  elaborately  equipped  bars  and 
public-houses  in  such  close  juxtaposition  to  the 
thatched-roofed,  stone-floored  cottages  of  those 
who  can  in  no  possible  manner  afi^ord  the  lux- 
ury of  drink. 

At  the  suggestion  of  the  courteous  and  kindly 
station  master,  I  decided  to  spend  part  of  the 
three  hours  which  I  must  wait  in  visiting  the 
famous  old  town  of  Tipperary  which  was  but 
three  miles  away  on  the  south.  I  boarded  a 
train  bound  for  Waterford,  and  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  I  was  in  Tipperary  town.  When  I 
looked  about  me  I  felt  sure  that  I  was  in  Ire- 
land indeed.     Here  all  the  marks  were  to  be 


100  SHAMROCK-LAND 

seen.  Jaunting-cars  were  drawn  up  in  line, 
with  drivers  just  begging  one  to  go  on  a  "glori- 
ious  dhrive":  chickens  and  geese  and  even  goats 
appeared  to  roam  about  at  will:  "Patrick" 
was  there  with  his  Hibernian  Up  and  his  pipe; 
and  stoUd,  thatched  houses  lined  all  the  alley- 
ways which  extended  out  even  into  the  grassy 
meadows  that  surrounded  the  town  on  every 
side. 

I  walked  from  the  station  up  the  walled-in 
roadway  to  the  old  town.  All  along  the  way 
were  low-back  donkey-cars,  many  of  them 
loaded  down  with  tall  cans  of  milk  which  they 
were  taking  to  the  creameries.  With  the  bare 
exception  of  Cork,  Tipperary  is  the  largest 
butter  market  of  Ireland.  The  population  of 
the  town  at  this  time  is  about  six  thousand, 
possibly  three  or  four  thousand  less  than  it  was 
sixty  years  ago.  It  is  situated  at  the  foot  of 
the  Slieve-na-muck  hills  in  an  undulating  coun- 
try of  the  densest  green.  Meadows  of  lush 
grass  extend  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  see. 

I  explored  one  of  the  principal  shops  on  a 
corner  of  the  main  street  in  quest  of  an  um- 
brella.    There   seemed   to   be   a    full   stock   of 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY         loi 

goods  in  the  establishment,  but  the  wares  were 
piled  about  and  most  unattractively  displayed. 
The  windows  were  small,  and  the  day  was 
cloudy  and  damp  without,  so  there  was  gloom 
indeed  in  the  search  which  we  made  for  the 
umbrella.  At  length  the  young  woman  clerk 
found  the  box  containing  the  umbrellas  and 
laid  them  out  for  my  inspection.  They  were 
of  the  oldest  and  crudest  pattern,  though  it 
appeared  that  the  fair  young  clerk  did  not 
know  that  much  better  ones  could  be  found 
anywhere. 

It  was  raining  and  cold  without,  but  nobody 
seemed  to  mind  a  little  thing  like  that.  I 
stopped  a  picturesque  group  of  children  on  their 
way  from  school,  and  asked  them  if  they  ob- 
jected to  my  making  a  small  picture  of  them 
with  my  kodak.  They  not  only  had  no  objec- 
tion, but  were  almost  wild  with  enthusiasm 
over  the  project.  Others  came  up,  and  in  a 
short  while  they  were  joined  by  several  old  men 
and  women  who  came  up  out  of  a  neighboring 
alley.  As  I  moved  away  from  this  place  the 
crowd  followed  me,  increasing  as  we  went  along. 
The  old  women  were  poorly  dressed,  with  the 
usual  somber  shawl  over  the  head,  and  heavy, 


102  SHAMROCK-LAND 

though  badly-worn,  shoes.  One  old  man  who 
hobbled  up  out  of  an  alley  with  his  cane  was 
quite  remarkable  in  his  attire.  His  coat  was 
cut  according  to  a  pattern  that  has  long  been 
ruled  out  of  fashionable  society,  and  his  shoes 
were  something  enormous.  The  entire  outfit 
was  crowned  with  a  derby  hat  of  some  style  of 
the  long  ago,  dented  apparently  with  many  an 
unlucky  stroke  from  a  shillalah  or  fist,  and  ac- 
tually green  with  a  growth  of  damp  Irish  moss. 
Feeling  somewhat  embarrassed  on  account 
of  the  crowd  which  I  had  collected,  I  made  an 
effort  to  get  away  from  them;  but  the  farther 
I  went  down  the  alley  the  larger  the  crowd  be- 
came. If  the  whole  lugubrious  contingent  had 
not  furnished  such  a  ludicrous  scene,  I  believe 
I  would  have  lost  my  courage.  One  might 
have  thought,  from  the  appearance  of  things, 
that  a  circus  had  come  to  town  and  that  I  was 
the  parade.  As  soon,  however,  as  I  expressed 
my  wiUingness  to  be  left  alone  most  of  the 
crowd  disappeared,  but  some  of  the  schoolboys, 
like  Peter  of  old,  insisted  upon  following  afar 
off,  intent  upon  learning,  if  possible,  just  what 
the  man  with  an  American  raincoat  and  a 
camera  wished  in  Tipperary. 


g»»a:^..^^ 


A«.,«..- 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPER ARY  103 

I  was  fortunate  in  reaching  Limerick  Junc- 
tion just  in  time  for  the  train  which  took  me 
to  Goold's  Cross,  a  station  in  County  Tippe- 
rary,  through  which  I  had  to  pass  on  my  way 
to  Cashel,  in  the  heart  of  the  Golden  Vale. 
When  the  train  from  Dublin  reached  Goold's 
Cross  I  observed  that  there  were  a  number  of 
what  appeared  to  be  excursion  coaches  attached, 
and  when  the  passengers  began  to  pour  out  of 
this  train  and  board  the  train  for  Cashel  I  saw 
that  in  a  number  of  cases  John  Barleycorn  had 
done  his  work  well.  A  guard  of  the  Cashel 
train  was  particularly  kind  in  placing  me  in  a 
compartment  all  to  myself,  and  thus  in  medita- 
tion and  introspection  I  traveled  to  Cashel, 
hstening  to  the  boisterous  songs  that  came  forth 
from  the  train  behind  me. 

I  was  visiting  Cashel  not  only  because  it  is 
in  the  heart  of  the  richest  section  of  Ireland, 
but  also  because  historically  it  is  one  of  the  most 
noted  small  towns  of  the  island,  and  possesses 
some  of  the  most  famous  ruins  of  the  British 
Isles.  No  one  knows  just  when  the  town  was 
founded,  or  the  noted  Rock  of  Cashel  first  pos- 
sessed by  civilized  man,  but  the  earliest  histor- 
ical records  indicate  that  it  was  an  important 


104  SHAMROCK-LAND 

settlement  centuries  before  Christianity  was 
introduced  into  the  island. 

In  those  early  days  Ireland  was  covered  with 
dense  forests.  The  trees  were  of  enormous 
size,  and  in  the  rich  swampy  places  there  were 
veritable  jungles.  The  inhabitants,  about 
whom  very  little  is  known,  had  built  no  bridges 
except  a  few  unsubstantial  wooden  structures, 
and  boats  and  barges  had  to  be  used  in  crossing 
the  streams.  The  houses  were  of  wood  —  a 
kind  of  wicker-work,  enclosing  in  some  cases 
walls  of  clay,  which  were  surmounted  with 
conical  roofs  with  holes  in  the  tops  for  the 
escape  of  the  smoke.  The  banqueting-halls 
were  sometimes  made  of  rough,  sawn  boards, 
and  covered  with  boughs  or  with  sedge-straw 
now  known  as  thatch. 

Wild  animals  were  abundant.  The  red  deer, 
the  wild  boar,  the  wolf,  the  fox,  and  the  wild 
goat,  with  many  smaller  animals,  were  every- 
where to  be  found.  In  the  woods  and  moun- 
tains there  were  eagles  and  ravens,  while  on  the 
water-courses  and  along  the  seacoasts  were 
innumerable  swans,  gulls,  choughs,  and  seals. 

Even  in  the  very  early  times  the  primitive 
inhabitants  raised  flax,  wheat,  and  oats,  and  indi- 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  105 

cations  are  that  they  kept  many  hives  of  bees 
that  gathered  honey  from  the  myriads  of  blos- 
soms of  the  wild-flowers  of  the  island.  With 
the  honey  they  made  mead  which  they  drank 
freely,  especially  when  they  met  together  in 
the  banqueting-halls  to  celebrate  some  victory. 
Traveling  was  done  mostly  afoot,  but  a  kind 
of  a  drag  was  used  for  hauling,  as  well  as  a  cart 
with  solid  disk  wheels.  From  the  very  earliest 
times  they  grazed  and  milked  the  cow,  and 
made  her  a  standard  of  value,  known  as  the 
*'set,"  with  plural  form  '*senti."  The  pig, 
too,  seems  to  have  been  with  them  from  the 
beginning.  Pickled  pig,  acorn  fed,  was  always 
considered  a  great  delicacy  with  the  early 
Irelanders. 

So  far  as  is  known,  the  religion  of  the  people 
was  Druidism.  Their  places  of  worship  were 
the  stone  cairns  or  ''cromlechs"  which  may  be 
found  in  parts  of  Ireland  to-day. 

In  those  early  days  Cashel  was  founded. 
Tradition  says  its  first  settlement  was  in  the 
reign  of  Core,  son  of  Loo-ee.  Immense  forests 
then  stretched  over  this  vast  limestone  plain,  and 
here  two  swineherds  —  Killarn,  herdsman  to 
the   King  of  Ely,  and   Doordry,  herdsman  to 


io6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  King  of  Muskerry — came  to  feed  their  pigs 
upon  the  acorns  in  the  woods.  They  continued 
in  these  woods  about  a  quarter  of  a  year,  mak- 
ing their  home  on  an  immense  hmestone  rock, 
three  hundred  feet  high,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  woods.  Here  it  is  said  they  had  a  vision, 
when  a  brilHant  figure  announced  that  this 
hill  was  consecrated  on  account  of  the  future 
coming  of  a  certain  Patrick  who  should  Chris- 
tianize Ireland.  The  masters  of  the  swineherds, 
hearing  their  remarkable  story  of  the  vision, 
repaired  to  the  spot  and  on  the  very  top  of  the 
vast  rock  they  built  a  palace  called  '*Lis-na- 
cree,"  or  the  fort  of  heroes.  Here  the  King  of 
Munster  received  royal  tribute,  and  the  rock 
was  thereafter  called  Cashel,  from  **Cios  ail," 
the  Rock  of  Tribute.  Others,  however,  say 
the  word  is  derived  from  ''Cashiol,"  which  in 
Celtic  means  the  same  as  the  Latin  word  cas- 
tellum. 

The  train  reached  Cashel  at  sunset.  Mount- 
ing a  jaunting-car,  I  drove  into  the  little  town, 
or  "city,"  one  should  call  it,  for  it  was  char- 
tered as  a  city  by  the  King  of  England  more 
than  five  hundred  years  ago.  Rolling  away  on 
every  side  were  meadows  of  grass,  almost  tree- 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 

A  Cromlech,  near  Dundalk. 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  107 

less,  with  white  roads  and  stone  walls.  The 
great  Rock  of  Cashel,  crowned  with  ruins, 
towered  above  us,  and  the  town  of  three 
thousand  people  lay  at  its  base  as  if  asleep 
in  the  gathering  twilight. 

I  was  hospitably  received  at  a  little  stone  inn, 
and  after  supper  I  was  taken  to  a  number  of 
the  shops  and  other  places  of  business  and  in- 
troduced to  some  of  the  leading  men  of  the  town. 
I  found  these  gentlemen  to  be  thoroughly  in- 
formed upon  all  subjects  relating  to  America, 
and  invariably  they  were  deeply  interested  in 
American  affairs.  They  subscribed  for  the 
American  newspapers  and  knew  numbers  of 
Irish  people  in  the  principal  American  cities. 
One  of  them  was  agent  for  a  number  of  the 
transatlantic  steamship  lines,  and  he  said  that 
in  the  course  of  a  year  he  generally  sold  hun- 
dreds of  tickets  to  emigrants  bound  for 
New  York  and  Boston.  One  gentleman,  the 
proprietor  of  a  hardware  store,  talked  to  me 
volubly  about  New  York  and  other  American 
cities,  naming  even  obscure  streets  and  describ- 
ing the  leading  places  of  interest.  Upon  my 
asking  him  when  he  had  last  visited  the  United 
States,  he  told  me,  with  a  smile  upon  his  face, 


io8  SHAMROCK-LAND 

that  his  feet  had  never  rested  upon  American 
soil,  but  that  he  was  so  much  interested  in  our 
great  free  country  he  almost  knew  it  by  heart. 
I  could  not  have  been  more  kindly  and  hos- 
pitably received  anywhere  than  I  was  in  this 
little  Irish  hamlet,  shut  out  from  the  noise  and 
bustle  of  the  world. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  set  out  in  company 
with  a  most  agreeable  and  kindly  acquaint- 
ance, a  citizen  of  Cashel,  with  the  purpose  of 
seeing  the  old  town  and  exploring  the  hoary 
ruins.  As  we  walked  here  and  there  in  the 
streets,  I  saw  many  sights  that  interested  and 
amused  me.  One  old  woman,  who  drove  a 
very  small  donkey-cart  from  house  to  house, 
distributing  milk,  seemed  to  meet  us  at  every 
turn.  Her  costume  was  decidedly  picturesque. 
And  in  one  case  we  saw  an  extremely  old  man 
sitting  out  in  front  of  his  doorway.  I  was  told 
by  my  companion  that  he  was  over  a  hundred 
years  old.  He  would  never  consent  to  having 
his  picture  made,  and  whenever  he  saw  any  one 
approaching  with  a  camera  or  kodak  he  went 
into  his  house  and  shut  the  door. 

At  length  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  Rock 
of  Cashel,   and   climbed   slowly   up   the   steep 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  109 

incline  until  we  reached  the  summit.  It  was 
clear  and  windy  and  cold,  and  we  kept  our 
overcoats  buttoned  up  closely  about  our  ears. 
That  same  day  the  thermometer  registered 
above  ninety  degrees  in  all  parts  of  the  United 
States.  As  we  reached  the  top  we  met  a  genial 
old  gate-keeper  who,  after  passing  courtesies, 
gave  us  an  immense  key  which  opened  a  gate 
leading  into  the  ruins.  A  veritable  wilderness 
of  masonry  lay  about  us. 

Upon  this  rock  are  ruins  unsurpassed  for 
interest  anywhere  in  Europe.  They  consist 
of  a  cathedral,  a  richly  decorated  chapel,  known 
as  Cormac's  chapel,  interesting  remains  of 
immense  monastic  buildings,  a  round  tower, 
and  a  great  stone  cross,  in  addition  to  the  very 
old  wall  which  surrounds  the  rock's  summit. 
Perhaps  all  of  these  ruins  belong  to  the  Christian 
era,  though  undoubtedly  the  rock  had  been  a 
heathen  shrine  long  before  Christianity  was  intro- 
duced into  Ireland.  Authorities  assure  us  that 
there  are  records  indicating  that  a  synod  was  held 
upon  the  rock  by  St.  Patrick,  St.  Declan,  and 
St.  Ailbe  about  the  middle  of  the  fifth  century. 
Oengus,  the  king,  at  that  time  erected  a  church 
upon  the  rock  to  commemorate  his  conversion. 


no  SHAMROCK-LAND 

If  we  except  the  round  tower,  about  which 
we  know  too  little,  the  oldest  building  upon 
the  rock  is  Cormac's  Chapel,  supposed  to  have 
been  erected  by  Cormac  MacCulinan,  King 
of  Munster,  who  died  in  908;  or,  more  prob- 
ably, by  Cormac  MacCarthy,  an  ancestor  of  the 
builder  of  Blarney  Castle,  who  was  king  and 
bishop  about  1127.  The  cathedral  was  fin- 
ished about  1 1 69  by  Donald  O'Brien,  King  of 
Limerick.  This  building,  except  the  wood- 
work, remains  intact,  and  is  very  handsome 
with  its  lofty  arches  and  groined  roof.  It  is 
said  that  in  1495  the  Earl  of  Kildare  with  his 
own  hands  set  fire  to  the  interior  wood-work  of 
this  vast  pile  and  reduced  it  to  ashes.  At  his 
trial  before  the  King  of  England  he  readily 
confessed  his  guilt,  but  said  he  would  not  have 
applied  the  torch  to  the  sacred  edifice  if  he  had 
not  been  firmly  of  the  opinion  that  his  deadly 
enemy.  Archbishop  Creagh,  was  within  at  the 
time.  Bishop  Meath  concluded  his  impeach- 
ment with  the  words,  "Your  Majesty,  you  see 
all  Ireland  cannot  rule  this  gentleman!"  King 
Henry  replied,  "Then  he  shall  rule  all  Ireland!" 
And  he  forthwith  appointed  him  to  the  lord- 
lieutenancy  of  the  kingdom. 


~4 


•""iiiSf 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 

Old  Cross  and  Round  Tower. 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  in 

Close  beside  and  built  into  the  cathedral  is 
Cormac's  Chapel.  Its  carvings  are  exquisite, 
though  black  with  extreme  age.  Wonderful 
old  tombs,  with  strange  inscriptions  in  Latin 
and  Gaelic,  and  fanciful  carvings  representing 
strange  beings  and  gods  and  goddesses,  almost 
heathen  in  character,  would  almost  lead  one 
to  beheve  it  was  formerly  a  heathen  shrine. 
These  carvings  and  tombs  are  upon  all  sides  of 
the  chapel.  The  tomb  of  Cormac  MacCarthy, 
lying  there  in  the  quiet  of  the  mighty  moun- 
tain, overlooking  the  Golden  Vale,  almost 
startles  one  with  its  strange  impressiveness. 

The  ruins  of  the  monastic  buildings  remain 
near  the  cathedral;  and  in  the  same  enclosure 
is  the  ancient  cross,  carved  probably  more  than 
a  thousand  years  ago.  Below  it  is  the  corona- 
tion stone  of  the  kings  of  Munster,  the  "Lia 
fail"  of  the  south.  Upon  the  stone  are  carvings 
in  concentric  circles,  indicating  that  it  was 
probably  a  Druid's  altar.  It  is  said  to  be  the 
oldest  stone-work  of  the  place  and  certainly 
one  of  the  most  ancient  carvings  in  Ireland. 

Beside  the  ruins,  and  crowning  them  all,  is 
the  round  tower.  This  remains  in  a  perfect 
state  of  preservation.     The  other  buildings  are 


112  SHAMROCK-LAND 

of  limestone,  but  this  is  built  of  sandstone  or 
granite.  This  tower  is  fifty-six  feet  in  circum- 
ference and  ninety  feet  in  height.  It  has  four 
apertures  at  the  top,  opening  to  the  four  points 
of  the  compass,  and  windows  upon  the  sides, 
indicating  that  it  was  originally  divided  into 
five  stories.  The  entrance  to  the  tower  is  a 
doorway  cut  through  the  thick  walls,  twelve 
feet  from  the  ground. 

It  is  not  known  when  this  tower  was  erected, 
as  authorities  upon  archeology  cannot  agree 
upon  the  dates  when  these  peculiar  buildings 
arose  throughout  Ireland.  At  the  present  time 
there  are  about  a  hundred  and  eighteen  round 
towers  upon  the  island,  of  which  many  are  in 
ruins.  Only  twenty  are  entire  from  founda- 
tion to  conical  roof. 

There  has  been  utter  disagreement  in  the 
conclusions  of  scholars  as  to  the  purpose  for 
which  these  towers  were  built.  Volumes  have 
been  written  upon  the  subject,  but  it  is  not 
known  even  yet  whether  these  strange  buildings 
belong  to  the  Christian  era  or  are  relics  of 
paganism.  Some  writers  strenuously  insist  that 
they  were  built  long  before  Christianity  was 
introduced   into   Ireland,   and   that   they   were 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  113 

erected  to  commemorate  victories,  or  as  monu- 
ments, and  were  used  as  places  of  retreat  in 
times  of  danger.  Some  think  they  were  erected 
during  the  early  days  of  Irish  Christianity,  and 
were  used  as  watch  or  bell  towers  by  the  monks. 
Excavations  in  a  number  of  cases  have  revealed 
skeletons  and  charcoal  beneath  the  towers, 
showing  that  possibly  some  of  the  towers  were 
built  over  the  graves  of  chieftains. 

For  whatever  purpose  the  towers  were  built, 
they  were  admirably  adapted  for  places  of  re- 
treat at  times  of  attack.  Entrance  to  the  tower 
was  gained  through  the  door  usually  situated 
from  six  to  sixteen  feet  from  the  ground.  The 
ladder  was  then  drawn  up  into  the  tower,  and 
as  each  successive  floor  or  landing  was  reached, 
the  ladder  was  taken  up  higher.  The  floors  in 
some  of  the  towers  were  constructed  of  wood; 
in  others,  of  stone.  Those  besieged  could  rain 
rocks  down  upon  the  heads  of  the  enemy  at 
the  foot  of  the  tower  and  thus  efi^ectually  pre- 
vent an  entrance.  There  were  no  weapons  in 
those  days  that  could  reach  to  the  top  of  the 
tower. 

I  examined  the  Cashel  round  tower  as  care- 
fully as  I  could,  and  through  the  door  looked 


114  SHAMROCK-LAND 

up  into  the  interior  of  the  building.  There 
was  no  sign  of  life  anywhere  except  the  chatter- 
ing of  the  jackdaws  that  had  made  their  home 
in  the  very  summit  of  the  tower. 

After  examining  the  strange  cuddies,  the 
damp,  cool  rooms,  and  the  mysterious  passage- 
ways in  the  lower  part  of  the  ruins,  my  com- 
panion and  I  sought  the  winding  stairways  of 
stone  built  spirally  in  the  wall  of  the  cathedral. 
I  noticed  the  perfect  fittings  of  the  spiral  steps, 
so  skilfully  cut  in  the  dark  ages.  After  many 
turns  we  came  out  upon  the  top  of  the  walls.  The 
flaming  sunshine  bathed  the  whole  mass  of  ruins 
in  yellow  gold.     I  shall  never  forget  the  sight. 

The  view  from  Eiffel  Tower  over  Paris  and 
the  valley  of  the  Seine  reveals  much  of  man's 
skill  and  suggests  power;  the  panorama  of 
mountain,  valley,  and  battlefield  from  Stirling 
Castle  in  Scotland  is  one  of  boldness  and 
majesty;  but  this  prospect  of  the  Golden  Vale  of 
Tipperary  from  the  summit  of  the  Rock  of 
Cashel  is  a  picture  of  infinite  peace. 

To  me  it  was  glorious  that  June  day  to  see 
the  sunshine  rest  upon  the  earth.  For  twenty 
miles  in  every  direction  lay  the  valley,  luscious 
and   green   beyond   all  that   can   be   imagined. 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  115 

In  the  distance,  and  far  away  towards  the  north, 
and  south,  and  west,  lay  mountains,  blue  as 
lazulite  in  the  golden  sunshine.  Field  beyond 
field,  meadow  against  meadow,  stone  wall  join- 
ing stone  wall,  hedge  following  hedge  —  a 
panorama  it  was  of  all  that  is  fair  on  earth  to 
look  upon.  The  lush  grass  and  the  shamrock 
covered  the  earth  like  a  carpet,  while  bloom- 
ing flowers,  daisies,  white  clover,  heather,  haw- 
thorn, poppies,  and  pink  wild  roses  breathed 
out  their  fragrance  into  the  soft  air  that  blew 
about  us  from  the  western  hills. 

Sheep  and  cattle,  like  tiny  specks  in  the  dis- 
tance, grazed  lazily  on  the  sunny  hillsides. 
Placid  streams,  glittering  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine, wound  between  the  hills  and  circled 
about  the  villages  and  hamlets;  and  the  white 
roads,  lined  with  gray  stone  walls,  stretched 
themselves  over  the  hills  and  across  the  val- 
leys until  they  appeared  Hke  white  ribbons  in 
the  hazy  distance.  Even  here  on  the  top  of  the 
lofty  ruins,  moss-covered  and  vine-clad,  the 
scent  of  clover-blooms  and  myriads  of  sod- 
blossoms  came:  and  the  far-away  tinkhng  of 
sheep-bells  and  the  songs  of  building  linnets 
told  a  story  of  infinite  tenderness. 


ii6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Many  miles  away,  towards  the  northeast, 
were  the  Devil's  Bit  Mountains  which  have  a 
peculiar  formation  —  a  depression  in  a  long, 
lofty  range  which  appears  to  have  been  cut  or 
bitten  out  by  the  teeth  of  some  gigantic  mouth. 
The  legend  current  in  that  country  is  that  the 
devil,  in  days  of  old,  was  passing  those  moun- 
tains, and  becoming  offended  at  the  general 
perversity  of  mankind,  took  his  spite  out  by 
biting  a  piece  out  of  the  top  of  the  mountains 
and  dropping  it  in  the  heart  of  the  valley,  leav- 
ing it  there  to  be  known  as  the  Rock  of  Cashel. 
The  driver  who  told  me  this  story  insisted 
that  many  of  the  old  folks  still  believe  this  tale, 
but,  said  he,  ''Don't  mintion  it  as  coming  from 
me,  but  I've  always  had  my  doubts  about  it." 

Coming  down  from  the  rock,  I  was  pointed 
to  Hore  Abbey,  an  immense  ruin  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away.  Here  David  MacCarvill,  dream- 
ing that  the  Benedictines  wished  to  cut  off  his 
head,  changed  it  into  an  abbey  for  the  Cis- 
tercian order.  This  was  done  in  1272.  To- 
day the  pile  of  ruins  is  surrounded  by  fields  of 
grass. 

I  stood  upon  the  spot  where  tradition  says 
St.    Patrick   stood   when   he   baptized   Oengus, 


> 


PS 

o 


a; 


-     u 

I  > 

a. 


GOLDEN  VALE  OF  TIPPERARY  117 

son  of  King  Natfraitch,  nearly  fifteen  hundred 
years  ago.  This  was  the  first  conversion  from 
heathendom  in  south  Ireland.  They  say  that 
when  the  baptism  took  place,  after  the  young 
man  had  renounced  heathenism  and  signified 
his  desire  to  embrace  the  Christian  faith,  the 
spike  of  St.  Patrick's  crozier  passed  through 
Oengus'  foot  and  remained  there  through  the 
long  ceremony.  The  good  saint  at  length 
completed  the  rite,  looked  down  and  discov- 
ered the  painful  condition  of  his  friend  and  royal 
convert,  and  was  much  distressed  that  the  acci- 
dent should  have  happened.  *'Why  didst  thou 
not  tell  me?"  he  asked  the  young  man.  "Ah! 
father,"  he  replied,  "I  thought  it  was  a  part  of 
the  holy  rite!"  "Then,"  said  the  good  saint, 
"thou  shalt  have  thy  reward.  Not  one  of  thy 
successors  to  the  throne  of  Cashel  shall  die  of 
a  wound  from  to-day  forever!"  And  it  is  said 
to  this  day  in  Cashel  that  twenty-seven  kings 
in  succession  ruled  over  Cashel,  all  of  them 
"belonging  to  the  race  of  AiHll  and  Oengus 
until  the  time  of  Cenn-gecan,  slain  a.d.  897." 


CHAPTER  V 

ON    A    JAUNTING-CAR    IN    TIPPERARY 

My  driver  smoked  his  pipe  and  gazed  dream- 
ily across  the  fields.  Just  over  the  stone  walls, 
in  cottage  yards,  little  barefoot  children  played 
in  the  morning  sunshine,  and  chickens,  wallow- 
ing and  stretching  their  wings,  scratched  the 
warm,  damp  earth  up  into  their  feathers.  Pigs 
nosed  about  the  chimney-corners  and  the  low 
open  doorways.  Out  on  the  roadside  strings 
of  geese  grazed  the  fresh  green  grass,  resenting, 
with  protruding  necks,  the  too  familiar  ap- 
proach of  a  stray  dog  or  a  wandering  goat.  The 
warm  sunshine  clung  to  the  damp,  steaming 
earth.  Cattle  and  sheep  grazed  lazily  in  the 
meadows,  and  low-back  donkey-cars  crawled 
slowly  along  the  old  gray  roadways.  From 
the  tree-tops  came  the  chatter  of  jackdaws 
and  the  cawing  of  crows,  and  linnets  sang  in 
the  hawthorn  hedges  which  divided  the  fields. 

Far  away  in  the  south  lay  the  Comeragh 
Mountains,    half-covered    with    summer    haze; 

ii8 


u 


3 


H 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY    119 

on  the  west,  and  in  the  distance,  was  the  Galtee 
range;  and  far,  far  beyond,  reveahng  a  faint 
outline  of  opaline  blue,  lay  the  round,  grass- 
covered  Ballyhoura  Hills.  About  us  on  every 
side  was  the  rich  lusciousness  of  the  Golden 
Vale  of  Tipperary. 

"Why  so  silent?"  I  asked  my  driver.  "Tell 
me  about  those  dreams." 

"Och!"  said  he,  drawing  himself  up,  "Fm 
draming  of  the  olden  days  whin  this  counthry 
was  a  land  fit  to  live  in.  They  were  happy 
days!  People  lived  here  in  dhroves.  All  these 
grassy  fields  were  planted  in  potatoes,  and  wheat, 
and  oats,  and  there  was  work  a-phnty  for  all 
to  do.  Men  and  women  worked  together  in 
the  fields,  weeding  and  spading  potatoes  or 
reaping  and  binding  the  grain.  Tremindous 
crops  were  raised,  and  there  were  grate  crowds 
of  men  and  women  to  do  the  work. 

"Miny  the  summer  Sunday  have  I  sat  in 
front  of  Patrick  Millikin's  in  Cashel  and 
watched  the  crowds  coming  in  from  the  sur- 
rounding countryside  to  be  hired.  For  Sunday, 
you  know,  is  hiring-day  in  Ireland.  Mass  first, 
then  hiring  in  the  market-place.  They  came 
in  from  iverywhere,  grate  crowds  of  men  and 


I20  SHAMROCK-LAND 

women  and  boys.  They  brought  with  them 
their  spades  for  working  and  digging  potatoes 
and  reap-hooks  for  the  harvest  fields. 

**The  farmers,  miny  of  them  very  rich  gintle- 
men,  stood  upon  an  elevation  or  sat  upon  their 
horses  and  called  aloud  their  needs  and  the 
wages  they  would  pay;  and  hundreds  of  voices 
answered  from  the  crowds.  Upon  the  day 
appointed  the  laborers  would  report  for  duty 
in  the  fields. 

"Och!  wirrasthrue!  but  those  good  old  days 
are  gone.  Now  there  is  stagnation  iverywhere 
throughout  the  Golden  Vale.  The  crops  are 
small  indade,  the  boys  and  girls  have  gone  off 
to  Amuriky,  and  in  ivery  direction  you  turn 
there  is  nothing  but  grass,  grass,  grass!" 

I  questioned  him  further  in  regard  to  the 
hiring  days  and  the  great  crowds  that  came  to- 
gether to  make  contracts  for  work.  Much  of 
the  hiring,  he  told  me,  was  done  in  March,  at 
the  first  breaking  of  spring,  before  the  crops 
had  been  planted;  but  in  general  every  Sunday 
was  a  hiring  day.  When  such  crowds  got  to- 
gether fights  would  almost  invariably  occur, 
many  of  them  strenuous  in  the  extreme,  though 
there   resulted   but   few  fatahties.     The   public 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPER ARY   121 

houses  were  kept  wide  open,  and  all  who  had 
the  price  could  get  what  they  wanted  to  drink. 
Village  champions  would  come  prepared  for 
conflict.  No  gathering  of  the  kind  was  com- 
plete without  one  or  more  "good,  shtrong 
fights."  Seldom  were  firearms  or  metaUic 
weapons  used;  and  whenever  a  fight  occurred 
in  the  crowd  reap-hooks  were  held  high  in  the 
air  and  carried  swiftly  out  of  the  melee  so  that 
no  one  might  either  accidentally  or  intention- 
ally be  cut  to  pieces. 

The  weapon  which  was  most  used  in  such 
fights  was  the  hard,  naked  fist;  but  nearly 
every  Irishman  possessed  a  **shillalah,"  a  wooden 
staff  or  club  which  was  capable  of  doing  con- 
siderable execution.  This  stick  might  almost 
be  termed  the  national  weapon  of  Ireland.  It 
derives  its  name  from  a  famous  body  of  woods 
near  Arklow  in  county  Wicklow,  where  the 
best  oaks  and  blackthorns  grew.  The  "shil- 
lalah"  proper  is  a  club  about  three  feet  in  length, 
but  there  is  a  shorter  and  stouter  weapon  with 
a  rough  knot  or  an  enlarged  root  on  the  end 
called  the  "kippeen";  and  there  is  a  still  larger 
one,  sometimes  even  eight  or  ten  feet  in  length, 
known  as  the  ** wattle." 


122  SHAMROCK-LAND 

The  "kippeen"  or  "shillalah"  was  carefully 
made  and  fondly  tempered  by  the  owner,  who 
was  as  careful  to  have  it  "fit  the  hand"  as  a 
tennis  player  is  to  have  the  right  "hang"  or 
"balance"  in  his  racket.  In  tempering  his 
weapon  the  owner  sometimes  used  slaked  Hme, 
or  he  rubbed  it  over  repeatedly  with  butter  and 
placed  it  "up  the  chimney"  where  it  was 
allowed  to  hang  in  the  peat-smoke  for  several 
months.  After  tempering  it  well  the  owner 
often  carved  lucky  signs  or  Hibernian  emblems 
upon  his  weapon,  and  he  took  care  to  make  it 
his  constant  companion  at  every  fair,  market- 
day  concourse,  or  political  gathering.  These 
picturesque  clubs  are  not  infrequently  found 
throughout  rural  Ireland  to-day;  and  when  the 
occasion  justifies  it,  the  owners  can  use  them 
with  all  the  strength  and  skill  which  charac- 
terized the  fights  of  the  olden  days. 

In  the  village  fights  on  fair  or  market  days  in 
olden  times  the  women  frequently  took  a  more  or 
less  active  part,  more  often  as  the  instigator, 
but  sometimes  actually  as  a  combatant.  Some 
of  the  more  pugnacious  kinds  would  use  a  long 
and  heavy  woolen  stocking  with  a  rough  stone 
in  the  foot  which  was  flung  right  and   left  in  a 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   123 

hostile  crowd  with  great  effectiveness.  Men 
were  supposed  never  to  strike  the  women  ex- 
cept by  accident,  though  when  a  stout  woman, 
armed  with  a  stoned  stocking,  made  herself 
rather  objectionable  by  the  promiscuous  use 
of  her  unusual  weapon  in  a  crowd,  sometimes 
an  "accident"  would  happen  to  her  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  back-handed  shillalah  stroke  which 
would  place  her  hors  de  combat. 

More  often  the  women  stirred  up  the  men  to 
fight,  and  urged  them  on.  Sometimes  a  frac- 
tious old  hag  would  exert  herself  to  the  utmost 
to  bring  about  a  fight  between  her  party  and 
the  rival  faction,  even  going  so  far  as  to  go  up 
and  call  each  enemy  a  coward  or  a  poltroon  in 
his  very  teeth,  and  if  this  did  not  have  the  de- 
sired effect,  she  spit  in  their  faces  and  threw 
dirt  in  their  eyes. 

Factional  fights  have  been  uncommon  in 
Ireland  for  many  years.  An  Irishman  explain- 
ing this  said:  "The  boys  are  beginning  to  talk 
about  them  as  things  they  have  seen  —  hke  a 
show  or  a  giant.  We  ask  each  other  how  we 
were  ever  drawn  into  them,  and  what  brought 
them  about,  and  the  one  answer  is,  whisky! 
No  gun  will  go  off  until  it  is  primed,  and  sure 


124  SHAMROCK-LAND 

in  fights  whisky  is  the  priming.  That  made 
more  orphans  and  widows  than  the  fever  and 
starvation." 

My  driver  became  quiet  and  gloomy  when- 
ever he  spoke  of  the  great  numbers  of  young 
men  and  women  who  had  left  Tipperary,  Kil- 
kenny, Limerick,  and  Kerry  for  America.  The 
rich  lands  which  they  had  worked,  and  upon 
which  they  had  raised  great  crops  of  wheat, 
oats,  barley,  potatoes,  and  turnips,  were  now 
turned  out  in  pastures  and  hay-fields.  The 
people  had  gone  out  and  the  cattle  and  sheep 
had  taken  their  places. 

His  observations  agreed  with  the  facts  as 
given  by  the  oflEicial  census.  In  the  year  1831 
county  Tipperary  had  a  population  of  402,363. 
By  1 87 1  the  number  of  the  county's  inhabitants 
had  decreased  to  216,713;  and  the  census  of 
1 901  revealed  a  population  of  159,754.  In 
other  words,  the  population  in  1831  was  254 
to  the  square  mile;  in  1901  it  was  100.  It  is 
scarcely  a  wonder  that  such  a  tremendous  de- 
crease in  population  in  three  quarters  of  a 
century  should  have  brought  about  stagnation 
in  agriculture  and  every  other  pursuit  requiring 
labor. 


'J 


< 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR   IN  TIPPER ARY    125 

That  section  of  Ireland  generally  known  as 
the  Golden  Vale  comprises  a  large  part  of  county 
Tipperary,  extends  westwardly  through  the 
center  of  county  Limerick,  and  continues  itself 
through  northern  county  Kerry  to  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  Limerick,  therefore,  is  in  soil  one  of 
the  richest  counties  in  Ireland.  All  kinds  of 
crops  may  be  raised,  and  the  land  lies  well  for 
cultivation.  Yet  the  county  has  in  seventy  years 
decreased  greatly  in  population.  In  1831  there 
were  248,000  people  in  the  county;  in  1901  the 
census  returned  only  145,018.  So  Kerry  also 
decreased  from  250,000  in  1831  to  165,000  in 
1901. 

Thus  all  through  south  Ireland  the  people 
have  been  emigrating  by  the  thousands,  leaving 
the  affairs  of  the  country  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  for  one  reason  or  another  have  been  actu- 
ally unable  to  get  away. 

The  depopulation  of  south  Ireland  has  had 
a  rather  remarkable  effect  upon  the  outward 
appearance  of  the  country.  In  some  countries, 
certainly  in  many  parts  of  the  United  States, 
land  formerly  cultivated  and  abandoned  reverts 
to  a  production  of  useless  scrubby  undergrowth, 
pines  and  broomsedge.     In  south  Ireland,  with 


126  SHAMROCK-LAND 

its  rich  limestone  soil,  luscious  grass  takes  pos- 
session of  every  uncultivated  field.  There  is 
no  extraneous  growth  whatever,  except  perhaps 
some  sedge  in  the  marshes  and  bracken  upon 
the  mountains.  Thus,  while  the  depopulation 
continues,  agricultural  statistics  reveal  a  yearly 
increase  in  the  number  of  sheep  and  cattle  in 
this  country.  And  in  some  respects  the  coun- 
try becomes  more  beautiful  as  the  grass  covers 
all  the  hills  and  valleys. 

It  is  the  object  of  nearly  all  the  reform  soci- 
eties, more  especially  the  Congested  Districts 
Board,  to  induce  the  people  to  resume  the  in- 
tensive cultivation  of  the  soil  by  modern  methods, 
and  to  check  the  tendency  towards  the  aban- 
donment of  the  land  to  the  cattle  and  sheep. 
For  over  half  a  century  the  Government  of  the 
United  Kingdom  has  been  trying  to  introduce 
methods  for  the  improvement  of  the  Irish  peas- 
ant's conditions.  Some  of  the  projects  have 
succeeded  fairly  well,  though  some  of  them  have 
failed.  The  Irish  themselves  have  not  always 
kindly  accepted  these  belated  offers  of  help 
from  the  Government,  but  have  been  disposed 
to  resent  innovations  and  reforms  as  interfer- 
ences with  their  customs  and  invasions  of  their 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   127 

rights.  Nevertheless,  the  indefatigable  efforts 
of  these  societies  have  resulted  in  much  im- 
provement in  the  Irish  peasant's  condition. 

That  June  day  as  we  drove  along  the  Tip- 
perary  roads  the  rich  grassy  fields  lay  in  all  their 
luxuriancy  about  us.  Now  and  then  we  passed 
on  the  roadside  a  thatched  cottage  of  the  usual 
type  —  bare  of  all  ornament  without  and  devoid 
of  any  means  of  comfort  within.  One  of  the 
truly  remarkable  things  in  south  Ireland  is  the 
neglected  home.  Even  when  the  laborer  or 
farmer  or  workman,  as  the  case  may  be,  can 
afi^ord  it,  he  never  thinks  of  making  his  home  a 
more  attractive  place,  but  allows  it  to  remain 
gloomy  and  uncomfortable  within  and  without. 
This  pecuharity  of  the  native  Irishman  causes 
travelers  to  characterize  him  as  thriftless  or 
lazy.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  houses  are  of  a 
type  that  existed  almost  everywhere  in  the  Brit- 
ish Isles  a  century  or  more  ago.  Changes  and 
reforms  proceed  but  slowly  in  Ireland.  The 
Irishman's  pecuharity  of  temperament  no  doubt 
has  much  to  do  with  this. 

In  his  charming  book  of  sketches,  entitled, 
*' To-day  and  To-morrow  in  Ireland,"  Mr. 
Stephen    Gwynn    says:  "Workers    agree    that 


128  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  task  of  getting  the  Irish  peasant  to  make  a 
new  departure  by  himself  is  all  but  hopeless; 
he  will  do  what  his  father  did  before  him  and 
his  neighbors  do  beside  him.  The  deterrent 
is  not  idleness,  but  the  fear  of  ridicule  which 
has  been  a  power  in  the  land  since  the  days  — 
fifteen  centuries  ago  —  when  the  order  of  bards 
exercised  all  but  a  tyranny  in  the  country  by  the 
gift  of  satire.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Irish 
nation  seems  to  lend  itself  strangely  to  innova- 
tions by  groups,  and  there  is  no  part  of  the  Brit- 
ish Isles  where  co-operation  can  show  such 
surprising  results.  But  these  results  have  been 
attained  by  men  who  realize  that  you  can  do 
nothing  with  the  Irish  by  laughing  at  them, 
nor  by  scolding  them,  nor  can  you  radically 
change  their  nature.  What  they  have  done 
has  been  to  develop  the  Irish  quickness  on  its 
own  lines,  making  full  allowance  for  the  pre- 
judices and  superstitions  of  the  people,  and 
realizing  that  with  all  these  drawbacks  —  if 
one  must  call  them  drawbacks  —  the  people 
are  the  most  valuable  belonging  of  the  country." 
Mr.  Michael  J.  F.  McCarthy,  in  a  lecture 
which  he  delivered  frequently  in  Ireland,  en- 
titled, ''North  and  South:  Contrasts  in  Char- 


1 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   129 

acter,"  corroborates  the  statement  that  the 
Irish  are  abnormally  afraid  of  ridicule  and  a 
certain  kind  of  *'pubHc  opinion."  Says  he:  **A 
point  of  contrast  between  the  North  and  the 
South  is  to  be  found  in  the  sensitiveness  of  the 
people  to  what  is  called  'public  opinion.'  .  .  . 
I  have  known  hundreds  of  people  who  were 
driven  to  distraction  at  various  periods  of  their 
lives  by  the  gossip  of  their  neighbors,  or,  as  it 
is  more  commonly  called,  pubHc  opinion.  .  .  . 
There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  which  so  disturbs 
the  southern  Irishman  as  ridicule  or  disap- 
proval." 

One  should  not  forget,  however,  that  sensi- 
tiveness is  usually  a  characteristic  of  emotional 
people,  and  is  more  often  than  not  a  mark  of 
refinement  and  tenderness  of  heart.  There  are 
few  who  dispute  that,  despite  some  belligerent 
tendencies,  the  Irish  are  among  the  kindest  and 
sweetest  tempered  people  in  the  world. 

Whenever  the  opportunity  was  presented  to 
me  I  talked  to  Irishmen  about  the  fairies  that 
are  supposed  still  to  inhabit  all  parts  of  Ireland. 
My  driver  laughed  when  I  asked  him  about 
the  fairies,  but  admitted  that  there  were  many 
in  Ireland  who  still  believe  in  "the  good  people." 


130 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


Sometimes,  he  told  me,  a  whitethorn  bush  is 
allowed  to  grow  immediately  in  front  of  a  cot- 
tage doorway,  actually  blocking  the  entrance, 
yet  no  one  would  dare  interfere  with  it.  The 
occupants  of  the  cottage  believed  it  was  a 
''gentle  bush,"  and  belonged  to  the  fairies, 
and  the  one  who  harmed  it  would  himself  be 
destroyed.  In  western  Ireland  belief  in  the 
fairies  was  rather  more  prevalent  than  else- 
where in  the  country,  but  still  there  were  many 
in  Tipperary  who  would  not  dare  cut  down  a 
gentle  bush  or  block  up  a  fairy  path.  There 
were  paths  through  the  grass  of  the  meadows 
over  which  fairies  traveled,  and  wo  to  those 
who  were  sacrilegious  enough  to  get  in  the 
way  of  these  good  little  people.  Some  houses 
had  been  built  by  a  landlord  almost  directly 
in  the  way  of  a  well-known  fairy  path,  and  as 
soon  as  the  houses  were  occupied  by  tenants 
they  were  visited  with  sickness  and  a  number 
of  deaths  occurred.  The  houses  at  length 
became  tenantless. 

Most  of  the  Irish,  even  though  still  believing 
in  fairies  to  a  certain  extent,  are  rather  reluc- 
tant to  impart  these  tales  to  a  stranger;  for  it 
is  considered  unlucky  to  talk  about  the  "good 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPER ARY    131 

people"  without  due  respect;  and  the  fear  of 
ridicule  is  implanted  deeply  in  every  Irishman's 
mind.  But  in  all  parts  of  Ireland  where  the 
old  Irish  or  Gaelic  is  spoken,  and  in  some 
parts  where  it  has  long  been  superseded  by 
English,  every  man,  woman,  and  child  believes 
in  the  existence  of  a  fairy  folk.  The  soil  is 
peopled  by  wizards  and  goblins  and  fantastic 
creatures  of  all  kinds  who  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  common  laws  of  existence.  Every 
stream,  gnarled  old  tree,  lake,  or  mountain 
peak,  has  its  stories  and  memories  of  mysterious 
beings  who  do  not  belong  to  earth.  The  Irish 
peasant  delights  to  talk  about  the  natural  ob- 
jects near  his  home,  and  he  can  relate  strings 
of  legends  about  the  stream  which  flows  near 
by,  or  the  lake  in  his  neighborhood,  or  the  steep 
hillside  behind  his  cottage. 

The  old  forts,  or  "raths,"  are  invariably  asso- 
ciated in  the  Irishman's  mind  with  fairies. 
These  ancient  raths  were  built  of  earth  upon 
hilltops,  and  were  surrounded  with  deep  fosses 
and  ramparts.  Their  history  is  lost  in  the  clouds 
and  mists  of  the  remote  past,  but  wherever  such 
an  old  remain  exists  to-day  it  is  a  source  of 
unending  strings  of  legends.     There  is  nothing 


132  SHAMROCK-LAND 

which  an  Irishman  regards  with  more  super- 
stitious dread  than  the  rath.  He  beheves  it 
is  the  special  property  of  the  fairies,  and  it 
would  be  impossible  to  find  a  laborer  who 
would  be  tempted  to  thrust  his  spade  into  such 
a  spirit  nest.  As  a  consequence  of  this  super- 
stition, the  raths  exist  in  their  entirety  in  many 
parts  of  Ireland  to-day;  and  sometimes  one  may 
be  found  even  in  the  center  of  a  rich  meadow. 
Many  stories  are  told  of  punishments  which 
have  followed  attempts  to  open  or  level  these 
raths,  and  of  scenes  and  objects  witnessed  by 
persons  who  have  unconsciously  slept  beside 
them  or  passed  them  in  the  dead  of  night. 

Sometimes  the  Irish  fairies  are  useful  and 
helpful,  sometimes  harmful;  but  they  must  all 
in  some  way  be  propitiated.  For  instance, 
when  a  cow  is  milked,  the  first  few  drains  must 
be  spilled  upon  the  ground  for  the  fairies,  else 
the  wrath  of  the  "good  people"  is  incurred. 
Many  is  the  story  of  the  peasantry  as  to  how 
this  man  was  beaten  or  that  man  warned,  or 
of  how  another  ''saw  the  gentry"  and  ''never 
did  good  after,"  but  pined  away  in  a  dream. 

Students  of  racial  characteristics  and  of  folk- 
lore say  the  remarkable  behef  in  fairies  in  Ire- 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY    133 

land  is  due  not  only  to  the  intensely  emotional 
and  imaginative  natures  of  the  Irish,  but  also 
to  the  fact  that  it  is  a  very  misty  land,  and 
almost  every  day  and  night  the  clouds  and  fogs 
and  mists  cling  to  the  earth  and  assume  strange 
forms  which  are  easily  misinterpreted  by  an 
imaginative  and  primitive  people. 

I  asked  my  driver  where  the  fairies  were  sup- 
posed chiefly  to  dwell.  He  said  they  lived 
amongst  the  rocks  in  the  woods,  upon  the  sum- 
mits of  the  hills,  in  the  whitethorn  bushes, 
beside  and  under  the  old  bridges  of  stone,  and 
even  in  the  "wather  of  the  strames."  He 
asked  me  if  I  had  ever  heard  the  story  of  the 
Leprahawn,  or  the  Clericaune,  as  some  people 
called  him.     I  told  him  I  had  not. 

"Hush!"  said  he.  *'See  yonder  dense  little 
wood  before  us,  tangled  with  birch,  and  holly 
and  spruce  ?  They  say  he  lives  there  in  the 
deep  shades,  though  few  there  be  who  go  there 
to  search  for  him.  Some  of  the  ould  people 
say  they  have  seen  him  there  at  work.  He 
makes  shoes  for  the  fairies,  and  he  is  also  their 
miller.  They  say  ye  can  hear  his  hammer 
ringing  against  his  lapstone  as  he  nails  soles 
upon  the  shoes.     He  comes  out  on  foine  aven- 


134  SHAMROCK-LAND 

ings  at  sunset  and  bathes  himself  in  the  sunshine 
which  falls  on  the  western  grassy  hillside.  Ah! 
he  is  rich,  far  richer  than  the  American  mil- 
lionaires!" 

If  one  caught  this  little  fairy  miller  and  shoe- 
maker and  held  him  fast,  he  said  he  would 
reveal  the  situation  of  his  treasure-house.  But 
those  who  had  caught  him  —  and  he  had  at 
times  been  caught  —  had  always  allowed  him 
to  get  away.  One  must  always  keep  his  eyes 
upon  the  Clericaune,  for  if  he  removes  his  eyes 
from  him  for  a  moment  he  is  gone.  If,  however, 
he  is  caught  and  held  firmly  for  a  long  time  he 
will  ask  what  is  desired  of  him,  "the  penny 
purse,  the  shilling  purse,  or  the  two  thousand 
purse."  If  one  says  *'the  penny  purse,"  the 
Clericaune  will  conduct  him  to  the  spot  where 
the  treasure  lies.  But  no  one  as  yet  has  ever 
found  the  treasure. 

And  how  exceedingly  rich  he  was!  "Grate 
crocks  of  gold!"  all  buried  there  in  the  raths, 
with  nothing  but  the  ghosts  keeping  guard 
over  them.  Yet  if  one  could  but  dream  about 
the  treasure  three  nights  in  succession,  and  tell 
no  one  about  it,  he  could  walk  "shtrait  to  the 
shpot"  and  get  the  gold  and  diamonds. 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR   IN  TIPPER ARY   135 

"Did  you  ever  have  three  successive  dreams 
of  the  buried  riches?"  I  asked  him. 

He  laughed  and  told  me  he  had  not;  but 
once  when  he  was  a  child  and  "raally  belaved" 
in  fairies  he  had  "two  splindid  drames"  of  it. 
In  his  dreams  there  were  long  rows  of  heavy 
black  pots  full  of  gold  coins  and  all  kinds  of 
strange-looking  golden  cups  and  plates;  and 
diamonds  and  pearls  hung  glistening  on  golden 
strings.  After  the  second  dream,  which  was 
the  exact  counterpart  of  the  first,  he  thought 
surely  the  treasure  was  his,  but  he  took  care  to 
say  nothing  about  it  to  anybody.  On  the  third 
night  shortly  after  he  went  to  bed  a  storm  arose 
in  the  southwest  and  swept  up  from  the  Kerry 
coast.  The  wind  howled  down  the  chimney, 
scattering  the  smoldering  turf  about  the  hearth 
and  all  night  long  he  "dramed  and  dramed  and 
dramed  like  a  spalpeen"  that  a  Banshee  was 
wailing  out  in  the  howling  storm.  "Niver 
wanst  came  a  vision  of  the  jewels  and  gold!" 

Besides  the  Leprahawn,  or  Clericaune,  or 
Luracawn,  as  he  is  variously  called,  there  are 
two  other  "spirits"  pecuhar  to  Ireland,  the 
Pooka  and  the  Banshee.  The  Pooka  is  a  wild 
mule  or  horse  which  flies  about  at  night  search- 


136  SHAMROCK-LAND 

ing  for  a  rider.  Overtaking  one  who  has  been 
out  dissipating,  the  Pooka  in  some  manner  gets 
him  upon  his  back  and  carries  him  Hke  light- 
ning over  miles  and  miles  of  strange  territory, 
dropping  him  at  morning  at  some  spot  near 
the  starting-point  decidedly  more  dead  than 
alive.  The  Pooka  is  also  supposed  to  play 
many  tricks,  one  of  which  is  to  spoil  all  the 
blackberries  on  Michaelmas  night,  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  September,  after  which  date  no  Irish 
boy  will  dare  eat  a  berry,  however  fresh  or 
tempting  the  fruit  may  look  or  however  hungry 
he  may  be. 

The  Banshee  is  the  most  noted  of  all  the  Irish 
superstitions.  This  spirit  is  supposed  to  be  in 
the  form  of  an  old  woman,  thinly  attired  in 
white,  with  ragged  white  locks,  and  unmistak- 
able voice,  who  with  her  strange  unearthly 
screams  announces  to  a  family  the  approach- 
ing death  of  one  of  its  members.  The  pecul- 
iarly mournful  wail  is  always  given  at  night, 
and  while  it  somewhat  resembles  the  wind  it  is 
distinctly  a  supernatural  voice  which  cannot 
be  mistaken  by  one  who  hears  it.  Some  of  the 
weird  stories  of  the  Banshee  which  are  told  by 
the    Irish    peasants   are  enough   to   make   one 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 

"The  Top  o'  the  Morning  to  Ye,  Sir,  and  Welcome." 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   137 

shudder.  This  strange  spirit  follows  all  the 
older  Irish  families,  and  it  is  strongly  asserted 
that  no  death  has  ever  occurred  in  those  fam- 
ihes  which  have  descended  from  Brian  Boru 
without  a  previous  announcement  of  the  Ban- 
shee. 

Among  the  educated  Irish  such  superstitions 
are  no  longer  believed,  still  there  are  those  who 
declare  that  the  older  behef  in  fairies  and  the 
supernatural  has  had  a  further  development  in 
the  average  southern  Irishman's  slavish  obedi- 
ence to  the  priest  whom  he  is  said  to  follow  with 
genuinely  superstitious  dread.  The  power  of 
the  priest  has  undoubtedly  been  grossly  exag- 
gerated by  hostile  and  partisan  writers,  though 
it  is  unquestionably  true  that  the  parish  priest 
still  has  a  great  influence  over  his  parishioners. 
Some  of  the  more  ignorant  and  superstitious 
beheve  the  priest  can  do  anything  —  even  per- 
form miracles  and  send  souls  to  hell. 

An  Irish  story,  told  by  the  Irish  themselves, 
will  illustrate  how  at  least  some  of  the  peas- 
antry still  estimate  the  power  and  ability  of  the 
priests. 

Patrick  Mulligan  had  been  drinking  heavily. 
His  family  had  been  reduced  to  crusts  and  rags, 


138  SHAMROCK-LAND 

and  his  parish  dues  had  for  a  long  time  remained 
in  arrears.  The  priest  visited  his  untidy  cot- 
tage one  day  and  admonished  him  severely: 

"Patrick,  this  must  stop!  Too  much  drink 
will  ruin  any  man.  Here  your  family  is  in 
poverty  and  your  dues  unpaid.  Get  drunk 
just  one  more  time  and  I'll  turn  ye  into  a  rat!" 
The  priest  went  away  chuckling,  but  the  threat 
had  an  immediate  effect  upon  Patrick.  For 
three  weeks  he  was  the  soberest  and  the  most 
industrious  man  in  the  parish.  Not  one  drop 
did  he  touch  —  not  even  of  porter  —  but  worked 
every  day  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  of  the 
sun,  weeding  potatoes  and  mowing  hay. 

When  the  Tipperary  pig  fair  came  off  Pat- 
rick went  down  with  some  pigs,  and  after  making 
a  successful  trade  he  was  induced  by  an  old 
companion  to  take  "jist  a  dhrop  f'r  th'  sake  of 
ould  toimes."  It  proved  his  undoing.  He  went 
home  drunk;  but  before  he  reached  his  door- 
way remorse  had  smitten  him.  He  remem- 
bered the  priest's  threat  to  turn  him  into  a  rat. 

"Och!  Biddy,"  he  said,  as  he  entered  the 
door,  "I've  gone  and  done  it!  I've  brought  it 
upon  me!  Father  O'Flaherty  tould  me  he  would 
turn  me  into  a  rat!     Biddy,  I  feel  th*  change 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   139 

a-coming  now!  I  feel  my  eyes  a-getting  beady 
and  my  nose  a-getting  sharp!  Yis,  and  I  be- 
lave  the  long  side-whiskers  are  a-coming,  too! 

0  Biddy,  f  r  th'  sake  of  Hiven,  if  ye  love  me, 
kape  yer  eyes  on  th'  cat!'* 

Driving  westward,  we  came  in  sight  of  a 
singular  elevation,  an  artificial  mound  of  earth, 
turf-covered,  rising  perhaps  seventy  feet  above 
the  summit  of  the  hill  upon  which  it  was 
constructed.  I  was  told  it  was  the  Moat  of 
Knockgrafifon,  one  of  the  most  noted  raths  in 
all  Ireland.  This  ancient  fort  is  a  treasury  of 
legendary  lore.  The  ancient  castle  which  for- 
merly stood  at  its  base  was  erected  in  the  year 
1 1 08;  tradition  says  that  eighteen  of  the  early 
kings  of  Munster  were  born  and  reared  within 
its  walls.  From  the  remarkable  appearance  of 
the  earthworks  and  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle 

1  thought  it  scarcely  strange  that  the  peasants 
throughout  that  portion  of  Tipperary  should 
have  connected  the  place  with  weird  stories 
and  strange  legends. 

We  passed  innumerable  meadows  where  cattle 
and  sheep  grazed  in  the  sunshine.  The  roads 
were  unusually  bare  of  travelers.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  good  day  for  labor  in  the  fields  and  all 


140  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  farmers  and  laborers  were  at  work.  Now 
and  then  we  met  a  donkey-cart  in  the  road  with 
its  driver  dreaming  and  smoking  his  pipe. 
Thatched  cottages  of  stone  and  mud,  white- 
washed, were  scattered  irregularly  all  over  the 
face  of  the  country.  A  thin  line  of  smoke  came 
from  some  of  the  chimneys,  showing  that  per- 
haps a  meal  was  preparing  within. 

We  came  at  length  to  a  little  village  stretched 
along  on  both  sides  of  the  road,  and,  indeed, 
on  both  sides  of  the  river  Suir,  which  the  road 
crosses  at  this  point.  The  bridge  across  the 
Suir  is  very  old  and  replete  with  legend  and 
history.  Upon  it  William  III  is  said  to  have 
signed  the  charter  of  the  **City  of  Cashel"  in 
the  year  1690.  My  driver  said  the  village  was 
called  Golden,  and  the  bridge  was  known  as 
the  Golden  Bridge.  Near  by  we  saw  the  remains 
of  an  old  round  tower. 

After  crossing  the  bridge  we  turned  northward, 
and  after  traveling  for  some  time  we  came  to 
an  arched  gateway  of  stone,  covered  with  ivy 
from  the  ground  to  the  summit,  perhaps  sixty 
or  seventy  feet  in  the  air.  I  was  told  that  this 
was  once  the  entrance  to  a  great  and  rich  estate 
which  had  gone  down  to  decay.     Although  the 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   141 

soil  appeared  to  be  unusually  fertile,  most  of 
the  old  places  which  we  passed  had  degenerated 
quite  into  ruins.  One  old  castle  which  I  wished 
to  examine  had  to  be  approached  between  the 
barbed  wires  of  a  newly  stretched  fence;  and 
the  next  great  house,  which  we  had  to  go  some 
distance  out  of  our  course  to  see,  was  situated 
out  in  the  center  of  a  grassy  field  where  large 
numbers  of  cattle  and  sheep  grazed  the  rich 
grass. 

On  the  roadside  we  saw  a  man  apparently 
thirty  years  of  age  with  a  crude  hammer  break- 
ing limestone  rocks  for  mending  the  road.  We 
stopped  and  engaged  him  in  conversation.  He 
was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with  open  vest,  and  a 
much-battered  derby  hat  upon  his  head.  While 
we  talked  about  the  roads  and  the  stones  and 
other  subjects  which  I  was  able  immediately 
to  introduce,  a  tall,  lanky  youth  of  listless  man- 
ner strolled  out  from  behind  a  dwindling  hay- 
stack near  by,  and  stood  with  hands  behind 
him  listening  to  what  we  said.  He  wore  a  cap 
and  an  exceedingly  ill-fitting  suit  of  clothes,  and 
very  coarse,  heavy  shoes.  Very  soon  a  quiet 
old  woman,  with  a  black  cloth  over  her  head, 
came  out  of  her  little  cottage  or  hut  near  by, 


142  SHAMROCK-LAND 

and  also  began  to  talk  with  us.  I  judged  that 
the  three  Hved  there  alone,  and  that  the  old 
woman  was  the  mother  of  the  two  men.  All 
of  the  three  were  hstless  and  apathetic,  though 
they  were  kindly  disposed,  and  appeared  to  be 
much  interested  in  me  because  I  was  an  Amer- 
ican. 

The  older  of  the  two  men  asked  me  a  number 
of  questions  about  the  United  States,  saying 
that  he  had  long  wished  to  cross  the  ocean,  but 
that  he  had  not  up  to  that  time  been  able  to  do 
so.  He  supposed  he  would  be  able  to  get  better 
wages  in  America  than  he  was  getting  on  a  Tip- 
perary  roadside  breaking  limestone  rocks.  He 
was  constantly  hoping  that  something  would 
turn  up  yet  and  give  him  a  chance  to  go.  I 
noticed  the  pained  expression  upon  the  old 
woman's  face  as  her  son  talked  about  leaving 
the  old  home.  She  was  not  quite  so  stout  and 
large  as  the  average  Irish  peasant  woman,  and 
there  was  a  trace  of  refinement  in  her  timid  old 
face. 

The  hut  in  which  they  lived  was  but  a  short 
distance  away  in  a  little  yard  enclosed  with 
loosely  piled  walls  of  stone.  A  dog,  apparently 
a  cur,  had  followed  the  old  woman  out  to  the 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 


An  Irish  Country  Store. 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY   143 

roadside,  and  while  we  were  talking  the  family 
goat  came  up.  I  asked  if  they  would  allow  me 
to  make  a  small  picture  with  my  kodak  of  the 
home  and  its  family.  They  readily  assented, 
and  we  all  went  around  to  the  front  of  the  little 
home  where  they  all,  the  two  men,  the  old  lady, 
the  dog  and  the  goat,  posed  in  a  group  for  me. 
It  was  all  done  with  the  gravity  and  seriousness 
which  attends  a  funeral,  and  to  me  the  whole 
scene  was  pathetic  in  the  extreme. 

The  surroundings  were  pitifully  and  painfully 
bare.  The  little  hut  was  of  the  usual  type  — 
walls  of  mixed  mud  and  stone,  white-washed,  a 
roof  of  straw  or  thatch  four  or  five  inches  thick, 
tied  down  with  ropes  of  grass.  The  eaves  were 
not  more  than  five  or  six  feet  from  the  ground. 
There  was  no  porch  nor  awning,  but  the  door 
was  a  bare  opening  through  the  walls  of  mud 
and  stone,  on  a  level  with  the  ground.  In  front 
of  the  door  were  some  rough  flat  stones,  lying 
loose  upon  the  top  of  the  ground ;  and  on  each 
side  of  the  door  was  a  window  of  four  panes  of 
glass,  each  eight  by  ten  inches  in  size.  Within 
the  hut  it  was  damp  and  gloomy,  only  a  few 
rays  of  light  finding  their  way  through  the  small 
windows.     The  floor  was  of  rough  stones.    The 


144  SHAMROCK-LAND 

furniture  was  scanty  and  very  old.  A  large  old 
pot  hung  suspended  from  hooks  in  a  wide- 
mouthed  chimney  above  a  smoldering  fire  of  turf. 
A  flitch  of  bacon  hung  from  a  bare  rafter;  and  a 
hen  with  one  or  two  half-naked  chickens  picked 
about  the  floor.  The  goat  and  the  dog  had 
ready  access  to  the  room,  and  roamed  in  and 
out  as  they  pleased. 

I  bade  the  gloomy-faced  old  woman  good-by 
and  spoke  a  word  of  cheer  to  her  two  sons, 
barely  being  able  to  keep  back  a  tear  at  the 
thought  of  their  pitiful  lot  in  life.  And  yet,  I 
thought,  they  had  never  known  anything  better; 
and  there  were  thousands  of  others  there  in 
the  rich  Golden  Vale  who  lived,  Hke  them,  in 
hopeless  poverty. 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  we  reached  the  woods  which  surrounded 
the  station  at  Dundrum,  on  the  Great  South 
and  Western  Railroad.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight  in  any  direction  when  I  bade  my  driver 
good-by  on  the  little  platform.  Going  inside, 
I  found  the  agent,  an  intelligent  young  man,  in 
his  office.  He  was  kindly  in  his  manners,  and 
disposed  to  be  talkative.  He  asked  me  many 
questions    about  America,  and  wished  to  know 


ON  A  JAUNTING-CAR  IN  TIPPERARY    145 

more  than  I  was  able  to  tell  him  of  the  opera- 
tions of  the  American  railroads.  He  rather  de- 
plored the  Irish  rush  to  America,  and  expressed 
the  opinion  that  the  American  climate  did  not 
altogether  agree  with  the  Irish  people.  He  had 
observed  that  the  girls  who  went  over  with  heavy 
shoes  and  shawled  heads  had  stout  forms  and 
rosy  cheeks,  but  when  four  or  five  years  later 
they  came  back  to  visit  the  old  home  they  had 
their  hair  done  up  high  on  their  heads,  wore  a 
hat  with  plumes,  and  walked  upon  high-heeled 
shoes,  and  sometimes  even  wore  long  kid  gloves. 
But  nevertheless,  that  bloom  upon  the  face  was 
lacking,  and  they  were  invariably  pale  and 
sallow  as  though  they  had  come  from  a  bed  of 
sickness.  There  was  something  about  Amer- 
ica, he  thought,  that  took  the  color  from  the 
face. 

He  booked  me  for  the  next  train  which  he 
assured  me  would  be  decidedly  to  my  liking, 
for  it  was  the  ''American  Express,"  composed 
of  corridor  cars  entirely.  When  I  boarded  the 
train  he  was  at  hand  to  help  me  with  my  bag- 
gage. When  I  glanced  back  he  waved  me  a 
farewell  from  the  cleanly-swept  concrete  plat- 
form. 


146  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Though  it  was  in  a  sense  a  corridor  train,  en- 
trance to  the  coaches  had  to  be  made  from  the 
sides,  and  the  cars  were  small  and  the  seats  hard 
and  uncomfortable.  The  passengers  within, 
however,  were  interesting,  and  even  before  I 
desired  it  we  had  reached  Limerick  Junction, 
where  I  boarded  another  train  for  the  ancient 
city  of  Limerick.  When  I  went  from  the  train 
and  looked  about  me  for  an  omnibus  or  a  jaunt- 
ing-car I  found  that  the  rain  was  falling  steadily, 
and  by  the  time  I  had  become  settled  in  a  hotel 
a  great  gloom  of  mist  had  settled  down  over 
the  **City  of  the  Violated  Treaty." 


CHAPTER  VI 

WITH    THE    PEAT-CUTTERS    IN    GALWAY 

Rap!  Rap!  Rap!  It  sounded  faintly  at  first 
—  something  vague  and  mysterious  and  far 
away.  Rap!  Rap!  Rap!  It  was  louder  this 
time  and  had  become  more  tangible  and  real. 
Rap!  Rap!  Rap!  Rap!  Rap!  This  time  it  was 
unmistakable;  for  consciousness  had  returned, 
and  I  managed  in  some  way  to  look  out  from 
some  great  billows  of  loosely  enclosed  feathers 
just  as  a  quizzical  face  set  upon  a  pair  of  heavy 
square  shoulders  peered  in  at  the  door. 

"Och!  sir,  and  here  ye  are  shtill  abed,  and  you, 
too,  who  wished  to  shmell  the  dew  frish  upon 
the  shamrocks!  Bedad,  sir,  and  the  morning 
is  foine  and  broight,  the  wind  from  the  south, 
and  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky!  Indade,  sir,  and 
ye  don't  know  what  ye're  missing!" 

It  was  Boots;  and  I  remembered  distinctly 
just  then  that  I  had  told  him  the  night  before, 
the  very  last  thing  before  blowing  out  the  tallow 

dip,  that  I  would  like  to  be  awakened  early  so 

147 


148  SHAMROCK-LAND 

that  I  might  have  a  morning  walk  across  the 
Irish  hills. 

Boots  was  just  as  obliging  and  as  agreeable 
as  it  is  possible  for  a  kind-hearted  Irishman  to 
be;  and  that  is  saying  much  indeed.  Boots  was 
not  only  ''boots"  in  the  Httle  stone  inn  with 
which  he  was  identified,  he  was  also  porter, 
and  not  infrequently  waiter,  and  sometimes, 
though  he  confessed  he  knew  very  little  about 
horses,  he  was  actually  called  upon  to  be  jaunt- 
ing-car driver.  That  suit  of  green  livery  which 
he  wore  was  one  of  the  landmarks  of  the  little 
inland  Irish  town;  and,  though  somewhat  frayed 
and  faded  from  long  usage,  it  agreed  with  him 
to  a  nicety.  In  fact,  one  could  hardly  have 
decided,  in  gazing  upon  the  pleasing  combina- 
tion, whether  the  clothes  had  been  made  for 
Boots  or  Boots  for  the  clothes.  And  that  face 
of  his  was  fortune  enough  for  any  ordinary 
country-town  hotel. 

After  Boots,  at  my  solicitation,  had  talked  to 
me  awhile  about  the  weather,  and  the  coming 
pig-fair,  and  had  expressed  himself  upon  several 
matters  of  local  gossip,  he  hurried  down-stairs 
to  attend  to  some  of  his  multiform  duties  about 
the  little  inn  with  which  he  had  been  connected 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  149 

from  childhood:  I  was  left  to  dress  and  come 
down  when  I  pleased. 

My  room  was  very  old-fashioned  in  arrange- 
ment as  well  as  in  appointment.  Pictures  of 
Grattan  and  Parnell  hung  on  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  were  fanciful  engravings  of  St.  Patrick 
and  St.  Bridget.  An  old  rosewood  dresser  stood 
in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  in  the  corner 
near  the  window  there  was  a  queer  little  wash- 
stand  upon  which  there  was  a  great  washbowl 
decorated  with  green  shamrocks,  and  a  pitcher, 
or  "joog"  as  Boots  called  it,  filled  with  cool 
water  just  from  the  well. 

While  washing  I  looked  out  of  the  little  win- 
dow into  the  yard  which  was  shaded  by  a  single 
bending  yew-tree.  Close  by  ran  the  village 
street.  There  were  already  signs  of  life  to  be 
observed,  for  donkey-cars  were  moving  hither 
and  thither,  delivering  produce  and  turf,  and 
there  were  some  pedestrians  upon  the  smooth 
slick  sidewalks.  A  long  string  of  geese,  chatter- 
ing in  genuine  goose  fashion,  were  on  their 
way  to  a  near-by  grassy  hillside  which  rose 
abruptly  from  a  Httle  cross  street,  and  upon 
which  a  donkey  and  some  calves  were  already 
grazing  contentedly  in  the  morning  sunshine. 


150  SHAMROCK-LAND 

When  at  length  I  reached  the  dining-room 
my  hostess,  a  hale  and  hearty  old  lady  with  a 
lace  cap  upon  her  head,  sat  knitting  by  the  open 
fireplace.  A  table  that  would  give  accommo- 
dation to  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  persons  was  set 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Upon  it  was  a  snowy 
table-cloth,  a  great  loaf  of  white  bread,  two  rolls 
of  rich  yellow  butter,  a  big  bowl  of  orange  mar- 
malade, and  two  crisply  roasted  ducks  lying 
upon  a  platter.  On  one  side  of  the  table  sat 
a  girl  of  perhaps  twenty-two  years  of  age,  rosy- 
cheeked,  blue-eyed,  red-mouthed,  with  a  pair  of 
glasses  fastened  rather  saucily  upon  her  well- 
shaped  nose.  She  was  talking  and  laughing  in 
the  best  of  humor,  and  did  not  appear  at  all 
to  resent  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger  even  though 
he  might  be  an  American. 

In  a  few  minutes  two  young  men  came  in  and 
took  their  seats  at  the  table,  bubbling  over  the 
while  with  good-natured  conversation.  They 
wished  the  landlady  a  good  morning,  and  bowed 
chivalrously  to  the  good-looking  young  lady,  who 
sat  waiting  for  her  breakfast  to  come  in. 

Still  another  red-cheeked  young  lady  came  in 
and  was  seated  beside  her  companion.  She  too 
wore  glasses  and  carried  a  rather  commanding 


PEAT-CUTTERS   IN  GALWAY 


151 


chin.  Immediately  the  two  girls  plunged  into 
conversation.  Oh!  it  was  such  a  fine  day  with- 
out, and  this  was  the  day  when  Agnes  should 
come.  Indeed,  indeed,  it  had  seemed  so  long 
waiting  for  her.  But  then,  possibly  the  reason 
why  we  appreciate  things  in  this  world  so  much 
is  because  we  sometimes  lose  sight  of  them  for 
a  while.  It's  the  elusive  that  we  long  most 
for.  Thus  speculated  one  of  the  pretty  young 
philosophers. 

It  is  scarcely  a  marvel  that  over  those  rich 
roast  ducks  and  juicy  mutton  chops  and  steaks 
and  cocoa,  with  morning  sunshine  filtering  into 
the  room,  we  should  have  disregarded  the  fact 
that  we  were  strangers  to  each  other;  nor  was 
it  unusual  that  our  thoughts  and  our  words, 
mingling  together,  should  have  centered  upon 
sunshine,  and  shamrocks,  and  daisies,  and  green 
meadows,  and  clear  running  water,  and  blue 
skies,  and  Ireland,  and  everything  else  in  the 
world  that  is  truly  delightful  to  dwell  upon. 

The  young  ladies  were  teachers  in  the  Na- 
tional School  in  the  little  town,  and  the  summer 
vacation  was  near  at  hand.  They  liked  the 
work,  and  oh!  the  children  were  so  good,  but 
nevertheless  they  were  happy  that  the  session 


152  SHAMROCK-LAND 

was  drawing  to  a  close.  They  expected  soon 
to  visit  friends  away  up  in  county  Monaghan, 
and  while  there  they  were  going  to  take  a  trip 
to  Portrush,  in  county  Antrim,  where  they  were 
going  bathing  in  the  ocean ;  and  they  hoped  they 
would  be  able  to  learn  how  to  swim.  Swimming 
was  quite  an  accomphshment.  But  just  now 
they  wanted  Agnes  to  come,  and  they  could 
hardly  wait  until  the  arrival  of  the  train  which 
was  to  bring  her. 

Our  thoughts  left  the  Emerald  Isle  and  wan- 
dered as  far  away  as  South  Africa,  and  Chicago, 
and  Manitoba  —  to  all  of  which  distant  places 
Connaught  people  had  gone  —  but  we  came 
back  again  to  Ireland.  One  of  the  young  men 
delivered  himself  of  the  opinion  that  Ireland 
would  always  be  good  enough  for  him.  He 
made  his  living,  and  it  was  a  fairly  good  living, 
too,  traveling  about  in  her  thirty-two  counties. 
**But,"  said  he,  "in  order  truly  and  really  to  see 
Ireland,  though  it  would  pain  my  heart"  — 
turning  with  a  gesture  of  gallantry  to  the  ladies 
—  ''to  say  a  word  against  Munster  or  Con- 
naught,  one  should  visit  the  city  of  Belfast  up 
in  the  northeastern  part  of  the  island.  Oh!  it 
is  a  grate  city.     Shipbuilding  and  linen  manu- 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 


A  Country  School. 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  153 

facturing  and  whisky  distilling  reach  their  sub- 
lime heights  there!  And  while  you  are  there, 
sir,"  —  turning  to  me  —  "you  simply  must  make 
your  home  at  the  Badoque  House,  my  head- 
quarters when  in  the  city.  We  have  a  foine 
company  of  young  men  there,  some  who  work 
in  Belfast  and  some  who  travel  out  of  the  city. 
Oh!  such  company  as  they  furnish!  And  the 
landlady!  Well,  she  is  simply  J^/o/^^f/w/ .'  Ah! 
what  a  place!" 

The  kindly  old  lady  knitted  away,  now  and 
then  making  a  remark  full  of  good  humor.  She 
was  truly  and  really  glad  I  was  not  an  English- 
man. Not  that  the  Irish  wished  to  perpetuate 
old  hatreds,  but  the  English  did  not  seem  to  be 
at  all  anxious  to  have  the  Irish  Hke  them.  For 
instance,  not  long  before  she  had  read  an  ad- 
vertisement for  a  servant  in  the  want  columns 
of  a  Liverpool  newspaper.  A  clause  of  it  was, 
"No  Irish  need  apply!"  Och!  what  did  I 
think  of  that  ?  Wasn't  it  insulting  to  the  whole 
Irish  race  ?  And  a  prominent  EngHshman  had 
been  approached  and  his  aid  soHcited  in  redu- 
cing Irish  rents.  He  was  told  the  Irish  had  noth- 
ing to  eat.  "Then,"  said  he,  "let  them  eat  that 
rich  Irish  grass!"    What,  indeed,  was  one  to 


154 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


think  of  such  an  outrage  as  that  ?  No,  she  did 
not  feel  under  any  special  obligations  to  love 
the  EngHsh  people.  She  wanted  me  to  make 
myself  at  home  in  her  house  and  remember  that 
Americans  were  always  welcome. 

I  had  spoken  of  visiting  Galway  on  my  trip 
through  western  Ireland.  The  young  man  from 
Belfast  wished  to  know  where  I  expected  to 
make  my  headquarters  while  there.  I  gave  him 
the  name  of  the  hotel,  whereupon  he  grew  enthu- 
siastic. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "it  was  the  very  place 
I  was  going  to  recommend.  It  is  the  best  in 
western  Ireland!  Foine,  sir,  simply  foine!  Ele- 
gant table,  decent  attention!  No  better  any- 
where!" 

After  good-bys  had  been  spoken  all  around 
and  I  had  hung  my  feet  over  the  wheel  of  the 
jaunting-car,  the  young  man  from  Belfast  said, 
"I  hope  you  will  go  to  that  place.  It's  simply 
foine  .'" 

After  two  days  of  rambling  I  reached  Galway 
on  the  western  coast.  It  was  about  noon,  and 
I  went  immediately  to  the  hotel  which  had  been 
so  highly  recommended  to  me.  The  clerks  were 
pretty  young  girls  who  were  kind  and  obliging, 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  155 

so  I  was  given  good  quarters.  There  seemed 
to  be  quite  a  gathering  of  men  in  Galway  that 
day.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  a  market 
day,  a  political  field  day,  or  the  day  of  a  cattle 
fair,  but  when  I  went  late  into  the  dining-room 
I  found  many  men  thereabouts,  and  apparently 
many  had  been  in  ahead  of  me.  It  was  a  free 
and  easy  place,  and  dinner  was  served  largely 
table  d'hote,  though  extra  dishes  could  be  or- 
dered if  one  wished  them.  Vast  rounds  of  beef, 
and  Irish  ham,  and  bowls  of  bitter  orange  mar- 
malade, and  stewed  gooseberries,  or  dishes  where 
these  eatables  had  once  been,  stood  upon  the 
table.  All  the  napkins  had  been  used,  and  the 
table-cloth  had  been  badly  soiled.  The  waiters 
had  been  rushed  until  they  were  tired  out;  and 
I  thought,  after  waiting  some  time  for  an  order, 
that  perhaps  the  kitchen  force  also  had  become 
rebellious.  I  was  convinced  that  I  had  come 
upon  the  hotel  on  a  day  when  it  was  not  so 
"foine." 

A  big  bowl  of  stewed  gooseberries,  however, 
and  a  pot  of  rich  cocoa  sent  me  out  in  excellent 
humor  for  a  ramble  through  the  old  town. 

Galway  is  the  one  Spanish-Irish  town  of  the 
world.     One  can  hardly  conceive  of  a  more  re- 


156  SHAMROCK-LAND 

markable  combination  than  one  of  Spain  and 
Ireland  —  Latin-Moorish,  of  languid  southern 
sunshine,  upon  the  one  hand,  and  Celtic,  of 
northern  storm  and  unrest,  upon  the  other. 

The  facts  of  Galway's  beginning  and  early 
history  have  been  lost  in  the  flux  of  the  centuries. 
There  is  reason  to  believe,  however,  that  a 
cluster  of  mud  huts  with  roofs  of  grass  arose 
here  on  a  bay  of  the  Atlantic  long  before  St. 
Patrick's  time.  Here  through  the  Dark  Ages, 
cut  off  from  contact  with  the  activities  of  Europe, 
the  simple  Celts  lived  their  lives.  They  fished 
for  salmon  in  the  bay,  and  hunted  wild  boar  in 
the  mountains  of  Connemara;  and  at  all  times 
they  were  prepared  for  raids  from  native  chief- 
tains and  night  attacks  from  Danish  pirate 
ships. 

About  a  hundred  years  after  Strongbow  and 
Henry  H  made  their  partial  conquest  of  Ireland, 
or,  more  exactly,  about  the  year  1250,  a  number 
of  Anglo-Normans  found  their  way  across  the 
island  from  the  eastern  coast  and  took  possession 
of  the  village  of  Galway  and  all  the  surrounding 
countryside.  There  were  thirteen  families  or 
households  which  came,  and  they  were  subse- 
quently   known    as    "the    tribes    of   Galway." 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY 


157 


Note  their  names:  Athy,  Blake,  Bodkin,  Browne, 
D'Arcy,  Ffont,  Ffrench,  Joyes,  Kirwan,  Lynch, 
Martin,  Morris,  and  Skerret.  The  newcomers 
increased  rapidly;  and,  strange  to  say,  within  a 
few  generations  they  had  forgotten  all  allegiance 
to  England  and  France,  and  had  become  **more 
Irish  than  the  Irish  themselves." 

During  the  next  two  or  three  centuries  Galway 
grew  rapidly.  Walls  were  placed  around  the 
city,  towers  and  castles  were  built,  and  straight 
streets  were  laid  out.  Extensive  docks  were 
constructed  down  on  the  waterside,  and  a  com- 
merce sprang  up  with  the  Italian  cities,  with 
Marseilles,  with  Lisbon,  with  the  West  Indies, 
and  with  the  seaports  of  Spain.  In  1657  Henry 
Cromwell  wrote  back  to  England: 

**For  situation,  voisenage,  and  commerce  it 
hath  with  Spain,  the  Strayts,  West  Indies,  and 
other  ports,  noe  towne  or  port  in  the  three  na- 
tions (London  excepted)  is  more  considerable." 

The  Spaniards  came  in  the  thirteenth,  four- 
teenth, and  fifteenth  centuries.  There  were 
households  of  rich  merchants  and  retinues  of 
servants.  Spain  was  furnishing  all  Hibernia 
with  her  wines,  and  she  was  taking  away  in  ex- 
change  Ireland's   cattle,   pork,  grain  and   flax. 


158  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Many  Spaniards  exchanged  permanently  the  soft 
sunshine  of  Malaga  and  Seville  for  the  wintry 
skies  of  Galway.  The  city  after  a  while  became 
in  at  least  some  respects  more  Spanish  than 
Irish. 

That  still  clear  summer  day  when  I  wandered 
about  the  streets  of  the  ancient  little  city,  now 
quiet  and  sleepy,  with  its  vast  empty  docks  and 
dreamy-eyed  inhabitants,  I  saw  marks  of  the 
Spaniard  on  every  hand.  Many  of  the  women 
who  sat  about  the  doorways  or  stood  quietly  on 
the  corners  wore  red  skirts  such  as  one  sees  no- 
where else  in  Ireland  but  everywhere  in  Spain. 
And  their  eyes  were  black  and  piercing,  and  their 
figures  straight,  symmetrical  and  beautiful. 
Strange  freaks  of  architecture  —  for  Ireland  — 
in  the  nature  of  wide  old  doorways,  fantastic 
ornaments,  and  ancient  Spanish  coats-of-arms 
reminded  one  of  sunny  Cadiz  or  blue-misted 
Valencia. 

Though  there  have  been  recent  attempts  to 
make  of  Galway  the  leading  port  for  America, 
and  several  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars 
have  been  spent  in  dredging  the  bay  and  building 
wharfs,  the  project  has  been  as  well  as  aban- 
doned; and  a  ship  for  a  transatlantic  port  is  a 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  159 

stranger  in  the  beautiful  harbor  of  a  city  which, 
though  fifteen  hundred  years  old,  has  to-day  not 
a  thousand  inhabitants  for  each  century  of  its 
existence. 

Turning  a  corner  and  passing  down  a  lane 
with  long  lines  of  thatched  cottages,  I  knew  that 
I  was  in  Ireland  still.  Irish  children  played 
upon  the  sidewalks,  donkey-cars  passed  this  way 
and  that,  and  a  long  string  of  geese  filed  by.  On 
a  corner  stood  a  jaunting-car,  and  its  driver 
sat  in  a  doorway  near  by  smoking  contentedly. 
Is  this  your  car .?"  I  asked. 
It  is,  sir,"  he  replied.  "And  it  would  be 
a  grate  plisure,  sir,  to  make  it  yours  for  a 
while." 

I  told  him  I  wanted  to  drive  throughout  the 
afternoon,  and  asked  if  he  were  open  to  such  an 
extended  engagement. 

*'Sure,  sir,  and  I  am,  and  to-morrow  too  if  ye 
like.  Ye  can  get  right  up  to  your  seat  from  this 
shpot." 

We  started  off  in  a  smart  trot  down  a  narrow 
lane. 

"Och!  sir,  now  and  where  do  ye  wish  to  go  ?'* 
asked  my  companion.     "The  world  is  wide." 
Anywhere,"    I    answered,    "just   anywhere. 


(( 


i6o  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Do  you  fully  understand  that  word  ?  I  leave 
it  to  you.     Suppose  we  say  anywhere.'* 

*' Iverywhere,  sir,  with  a  gintleman  loike  you 
and  on  a  day  loike  this! "  he  said,  as  a  happy  Httle 
twinkle  appeared  in  his  eye. 

After  we  had  gone  some  distance  down  through 
the  tangled  lanes  and  streets  and  had  come  in 
sight  of  the  grassy  fields,  I  asked  him  if  he  knew 
of  some  spot  away  out  in  the  country,  far  away 
from  the  influence  of  the  town  and  out  of  reach 
of  the  screaming  railroad,  where  peat-cutters 
could  be  seen  at  work  getting  their  winter  supply 
of  fuel  from  the  bogs. 

*'Och!  sir,  and  I  do.  It  is  a  quiet  way,  and 
now  is  the  toime,  under  the  midsummer  sun, 
whin  they  do  be  cutting  the  turf  and  piling  it  up 
to  dhry  against  the  coming  of  the  winter." 

We  were  soon  out  in  the  green  fields,  leaving 
behind  us  the  stragghng  rows  of  thatched  cot- 
tages in  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  The  white 
road  passed  between  densely  green  fields  where 
multitudes  of  red  poppies  and  golden-hearted 
daisies  grew.  We  came  after  a  while  to  a  frag- 
ment of  an  old  castle  which  stood  directly  on 
the  roadside.  A  man  was  engaged  in  posting 
upon   its  old  walls   a   notice   which   my  driver 


_bJO 


i62  SHAMROCK-LAND 

time.  Being  genuinely  Irish,  he  spoke  English 
very  imperfectly,  and  often  my  driver  had  to 
interpret  his  remarks  for  me. 

*'Och!  yis,"  he  was  glad  to  see  an  "American 
gintleman"  so  far  out  in  Galway.  He  had 
never  seen  one  there  before,  though  he  had 
heard  very  much  about  America.  He  thought 
some  day  he  would  cross  the  ocean  and  live  in 
that  country.  To-day  he  was  just  weeding  his 
potato  patch.  ''  P'taties"  were  doing  very  well 
because  there  was  both  moisture  and  sunshine. 
He  was  feeling  quite  happy  these  days  because 
he  had  just  moved  into  a  new  house;  not  ex- 
actly a  new  house  either,  but  it  felt  like  new  to 
him.  Could  I  see  that  small  house  over  the 
stone  '*finces"  down  the  hill  there  a  Httle  way? 
Well,  in  that  house  he  had  lived  for  fourscore 
and  four  years.  The  landlord  had  finally  con- 
sented to  let  him  leave  it  because  the  roof  of 
thatch  had  rotted  and  the  walls  had  begun  to 
crumble  away.  No,  he  did  not  object,  but  he 
would  be  glad  for  me  to  make  a  picture  of  it. 

I  was  not  an  expert  at  climbing  the  Galway 
fences.  Just  about  the  time  I  reached  the  top- 
most ledge  of  loose  stones  something  would  give 
way  beneath  me  and  I  would  go  down  on  the 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  163 

other  side  with  what  appeared  to  be  half  a  ton 
of  stones  about  me.  I  was  really  ashamed  of 
myself  for  my  bunghng  destructiveness.  The 
little  hut  where  the  old  man  had  spent  his  days 
was  in  bad  condition.  The  roof  of  thatch  had 
almost  rotted  away,  and  great  cracks  had  come 
in  the  walls  until  one  could  see  plainly  into  the 
interior.  There  was  only  one  window  and  that 
was  very  small.  The  floor  was  of  very  rough 
stones;  the  chimney  was  built  of  mud.  And 
this  had  been  the  home  of  a  man  for  eighty-four 
years! 

The  old  man  then  took  his  position  upon  his 
knees  in  the  midst  of  the  potato  vines,  com- 
plaining as  he  went  down:  "Och!  Hivins,  and 
how  these  old  bones  do  hurt!  Bedad,  and  the 
rheumatics  do  pain  one  sore!"  He  looked 
placidly  out  from  under  his  much-battered, 
greasy  old  derby  hat  as  I  took  his  picture.  Then 
as  we  drove  off  he  waved  his  gnarled  and  twisted 
old  hands  and  bade  us  farewell. 

Mile  after  mile  we  drove  through  the  fields, 
the  country  becoming  more  and  more  thinly 
settled  and  less  rocky  as  we  went;  for  we  were 
not  far  from  the  boglands.  We  were  now  getting 
into  a  flat,  level  country,  entirely  treeless  and 


164  SHAMROCK-LAND 

apparently  almost  barren  so  far  as  any  kind  of 
crop  production  was  concerned.  Only  long 
stretches  of  monotonous  bogland  could  be  seen, 
and  everything  was  covered  with  coarse  grass, 
rushes  and  a  kind  of  bracken.  Finally  some 
long  black  mounds  came  into  view,  and  my 
driver  told  me  we  were  nearing  the  place  where 
the  peat-cutters  were  at  work.  Those  long  black 
mounds  were  piles  of  peat  or  turf,  left  to  dry  in 
the  sun,  and  the  men  and  women  were  at  work 
in  the  trenches  hard  by. 

I  left  the  car  in  the  road  and  crossed  a  level 
piece  of  bogland,  the  rank  turf  springing 
beneath  my  feet  as  I  walked  along,  sometimes 
entirely  tripping  me  until  I  went  down  upon  the 
turf.  In  the  first  trench  which  I  approached 
two  or  three  young  men  were  at  work.  Down  in 
a  ditch  one  of  them  stood,  in  mud  and  water 
almost  up  to  his  knees.  He  presented  a  lugubri- 
ous spectacle  indeed,  for  he  wore  only  two 
garments,  and  they  were  not  only  tattered  and 
unsubstantial  but  were  reeking  with  the  black 
mud  of  the  ditch.  With  a  pecuharly  shaped 
spade  he  was  cutting  brick-shaped  blocks  of 
quivering  muck  from  the  bog  and  throwing  it 
dexterously  upon  the  bank  where  another  work- 


o 
o 


3 

O 


rs 

i) 
u 
O 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  165 

man  dressed  with  a  torn  shirt  and  corduroy- 
trousers  was  carrying  it  off  and  placing  it  in 
piles  to  dry.  Another  was  busy  turning  over 
some  half-dried  bricks  in  much  larger  piles 
near  at  hand. 

I  immediately  began  to  talk  to  the  two  men. 
They  were  very  talkative,  but  they  did  not  want 
me  to  use  my  kodak  upon  them.  Oh,  no,  it 
would  never  do.  I  tried  to  argue  with  them, 
but  they  would  not  consent.  I  asked  them  why 
they  objected  to  allowing  me  to  have  an  interest- 
ing picture  after  I  had  come  across  the  Atlantic 
just  to  see  the  strange  things  of  Ireland. 

"Och!  and  is  it  ye  are  an  American  V*  one  of 
them  asked.  ''Faith,  and  I  should  have  known 
it.  I  thought  ye  had  come  from  Galway,  and 
I  was  afraid  ye  would  take  the  picture  of  us 
back  and  show  it  in  the  town.  The  divil  a  wheel 
would  we  be  able  to  turn  with  the  girruls  there 
again.  Whin  we  go  to  Galway  to  the  fairs  we 
do  go  drissed  up,  and  the  ladies  niver  know  we 
do  driss  like  this  out  here  in  the  bogs." 

**Sur,"  said  the  other,  '*we  do  not  be  objicting 
to  the  picther  ye'r  afther,  only  we  think  ye  might 
be  willing,  if  we  sthand  shtill  from  worruk  long 
enough,  to  give  us  the  price  of  a  dhrink.     The 


i66  SHAMROCK-LAND 

public-'ouse  is  near  by  —  jist  over  yon  hill  — 
and  we  do  love  a  dhrink  of  porther,  sur,  — 
nothing  shtronger  —  just  as  we  get  out  of  this 
mud." 

When  I  left  them  I  handed  them  sixpence 
apiece.  Then  I  crossed  the  field  to  a  trench 
where  a  very  scantily  dressed  young  man  of  per- 
haps five  and  twenty  years  was  cutting  out  the 
turf  and  throwing  it  out  to  be  handled  by  a 
young  woman  who  stood  upon  the  bank.  She 
was  perhaps  no  more  than  twenty  years  of  age, 
but  she  was  a  superb  specimen  of  womanhood. 
In  figure  she  was  exquisite,  strong,  active  and 
shapely.  She  was  dressed  heavily  in  native 
wool.  Even  her  skirt  and  bodice  were  of  wool, 
as  well  as  the  shawl  over  her  head  and  her  thick 
stockings.  She  wore  enormous  shoes  for  pro- 
tection against  the  dampness  of  the  bogs. 

I  addressed  many  remarks  to  the  young  man 
in  the  ditch  before  I  could  get  any  reply  from 
him.  He  appeared  to  be  cordial  enough  and 
good-natured,  but  he  would  not  talk.  It  mat- 
tered not  what  I  said,  he  simply  looked  at  me 
at  every  remark  and  grinned.  At  length  the 
young  woman  saw  that  I  did  not  understand 
the  situation. 


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PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  167 

"Oh!  sur,"  she  said,  *'good  gintleman,  ye 
must  excuse  him.  He  is  that  Irish  he  do  not 
talk  English  at  all  at  all.  He  do  talk  Irish  well, 
and  if  ye  know  that  language  he  will  be  glad 
to  talk  with  ye." 

I  begged  to  be  excused  from  talking  Irish, 
but  I  talked  with  the  young  woman  in  English. 
They  were  husband  and  wife,  and  they  lived 
in  a  little  thatched  house  about  a  mile  from  these 
bogs.  They  cut  turf  here  every  day  throughout 
the  summer  when  the  weather  permitted.  They 
sometimes  made  as  much  as  a  shilling  apiece, 
and  when  they  worked  very  hard  they  had  made 
four  shillings  and  sixpence  between  them.  But 
this  was  not  often.  It  was  getting  rather  late 
for  cutting  turf,  but  some  would  cut  it  until  fall. 
Turf  from  these  bogs  was  sold  in  Galway  and 
all  through  the  countryside. 

The  vast  level  stretches  of  the  bog  extended 
as  far  as  eye  could  see  in  every  direction.  Noth- 
ing but  black  mounds  and  coarse  grass,  with 
now  and  then  a  stunted  shrub  or  a  grass-covered 
hillock  could  be  seen.  In  all  parts  of  this  vast 
stretch  of  waste  land,  where  millions  of  square 
yards  of  peat  lay  open  for  the  gathering,  men, 
women,  and  children  were  at  work  cutting  out 


i68  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  brick-shaped  masses  and  carrying  them  off 
to  be  dried.  Many  could  be  seen  moving  the 
piles  and  re-stacking  the  blackish  brown  blocks 
which,  after  drying,  resembled  decaying  wood 
known  as  punk,  and  was  elastic  and  porous  and 
filled  with  roots  and  grass. 

Peat,  or  turf,  is  found  in  almost  all  parts  of 
Ireland  and  Scotland,  but  in  the  interior  of  Ire- 
land, where  the  level  boglands  occur,  the  supply 
is  most  plentiful.  Around  the  Irish  coast  on 
every  side  hills  and  mountains  rise  to  give  a 
peculiar  beauty  to  the  landscapes,  but  almost 
everywhere  in  the  interior  of  the  island  the 
country  is  level.  The  bogs  are  not  primitive 
or  original  masses  of  earth,  but  are  merely 
accumulations  of  vegetable  matter  which  has 
undergone  a  peculiar  change  under  a  degree 
of  temperature  not  sufficiently  great  to  decom- 
pose the  plants  and  grasses  which  have  grown 
upon  the  surface.  In  some  of  the  bogs  in  Ire- 
land there  may  be  found  remains  of  immense 
forests,  a  great  variety  of  trees,  the  wood  in 
some  cases  still  so  sound  as  to  be  of  value  to  the 
builder. 

As  there  is  little  coal  in  Ireland,  peat-cutting 
for  fuel  is  a  great  occupation  for  the  peasantry. 


PEAT-CUTTERS  IN  GALWAY  169 

The  commonest  method  for  getting  out  this  peat, 
or  turf,  requires  six  operations.  The  first  opera- 
tion usually  requires  four  men  and  two  turf- 
barrows.  The  strongest  man  uses  the  slane,  or 
spade,  in  cutting  out  the  brick-shaped  blocks, 
another  places  the  turfs  upon  the  barrows,  and 
a  third  rolls  them  off  and  empties  them.  The 
fourth  man  shapes  up  the  banks  for  the  slane 
man.  Such  a  gang  of  workmen  is  expected  in 
a  day  to  cut  an  amount  of  turf  known  as  a 
"dark";  and  it  is  estimated  that  from  two 
to  four  darks  of  turf  will  last  one  cottage 
through  the  winter.  Men  thus  engaged  in 
cutting  turf  formerly  got  a  shilling  a  day.  The 
wages  in  nearly  every  part  of  Ireland  are  higher 
now. 

The  second  operation  is  the  spreading  of  the 
turf  from  the  barrow  heaps.  This  is  usually 
done  by  women  and  children.  The  turf  re- 
mains spread  thus  for  about  a  week.  Footing 
comes  next.  The  turfs  are  collected  in  parcels 
of  six  each,  and  are  set  upon  end  where  they  are 
allowed  to  remain  about  ten  days.  The  turf  is 
then  rickled.  A  rickle  contains  about  ten  foot- 
ings or  sixty  turfs.  After  fourteen  days  in  the 
rickle  the  turfs  are  placed  in  clamps  or  stacks 


I70  SHAMROCK-LAND 

twelve  feet  long,  six  feet  high  and  four  feet 
wide.  The  last  operation  of  all  is  drawing  home 
and  stacking  near  the  cottage  where  it  is  to  be 
consumed.  Donkey-cars  are  almost  invariably 
used  for  this  purpose. 

In  almost  every  interior  Irish  village  one  may 
see  little  donkey-carts  piled  up  high  with  blocks 
of  this  spongy,  porous,  fibrous  combustible, 
which  the  drivers  are  anxious  to  sell  at  two 
shillings  the  load  or  twelve  sods  a  penny.  Many 
a  peasant,  with  leased  right  from  his  landlord 
to  gather  turf  from  neighboring  bogs,  makes  his 
simple  living  year  in  and  year  out  drying  and 
selling  turf  which  is  used  almost  everywhere  in 
the  country  for  fuel. 

After  wandering  about  among  the  trenches 
and  footings,  and  rickles  and  clamps,  I  found 
my  driver  on  the  roadside  lazily  and  heartlessly 
cutting  off  the  heads  of  inoffensive  daisies  with 
the  cracker  of  his  whip.  We  drove  in  leisurely 
manner  back  to  Galway.  For  a  part  of  the  dis- 
tance the  road  was  the  same  as  the  one  by  which 
we  came,  then  we  entered  another  road  and  went 
into  an  unfrequented  country.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon we  passed  through  a  little  village  in  a 
secluded  spot  at  the  foot  of  a  long  hill.     It  was 


PEAT-CUTTERS   IN  GALWAY  I71 

a  typical  western  Irish  village  in  all  respects, 
the  houses  being  small,  thatch-covered  and  old. 
We  drove  by  a  little  yard  walled  in  with  loosely 
piled  stones,  and  I  made  a  picture  of  the  front 
of  the  house  just  as  three  half-grown  white 
shoats  emerged  from  the  open  doorway  of  the 
one  room  under  the  roof.  Some  chickens  and 
ducks  which  also  had  free  access  to  the  room 
were  near  at  hand,  and  the  goat  was  near  by. 
The  woman  of  the  house  came  out  about  this 
time  and  began  to  express  her  opinion  of  the 
driver  for  bringing  a  ''shtrange  gintleman"  to 
her  house.  "Sure,  and  ye  monkey-lipped  spal- 
peen," said  she,  shaking  her  fist  at  him,  **  they'll 
be  raising  my  rint  or  turning  me  out  o'  house  and 
home  all  on  account  o'  your  impidence!" 

My  driver,  seeing  the  old  piece  of  skillet  in 
her  hand,  did  not  waste  any  words  with  her; 
but  cracking  his  whip  loudly,  and  ducking  his 
head  as  though  dodging  something,  he  drove  off 
rapidly,  leaving  the  woman  in  the  doorway 
uttering  torrents  of  heartily-felt  vituperation. 
At  another  house  in  this  settlement  we  saw 
chickens,  geese,  ducks,  pigs,  goats  and  even 
donkeys  in  the  dooryards  with  hcense  to  enter 
the  house  at  pleasure.     And  the  children  were 


172  SHAMROCK-LAND 

upon  terms  of  equality  with  the  other  inhabi- 
tants of  the  premises. 

It  was  just  such  a  village,  I  suppose,  that  an 
American  traveler  not  long  ago  visited  for  the 
purpose  of  studying  the  people  of  western  Ire- 
land. He  was  particularly  impressed  with  the 
exceeding  friendliness  of  the  pigs  which  came  up 
and  with  the  utmost  good  nature  began  to  root 
up  his  trousers  leg  by  way  of  investigation.  And 
he  found  that  the  custom  was  to  allow  the  cow, 
the  donkey  and  the  goat  to  live  under  the  same 
roof  with  the  renters  of  the  cottage,  though  in  a 
different  room;  and  sometimes  piles  of  manure 
on  the  outside  appeared  to  have  been  thrown 
out  of  the  parlor  window.  This  gentleman's 
description,  as  I  proved  beyond  the  shadow  of 
a  doubt,  was  not  an  exaggeration. 

It  was  after  sunset  when  we  drew  near  the 
old  city  of  Galway.  We  began  to  meet  upon 
the  road  donkey-cars  of  all  sizes  and  types,  each 
one  loaded  to  its  hmit  with  all  ages  of  humanity. 
There  must  have  been  some  gathering  or  cele- 
bration in  Galway  that  day  which  I  knew  noth- 
ing of.  It  was  a  wonder  to  me  then  and  has 
been  ever  since  how  one  small  animal  could 
draw  or  one  small  cart  contain  such  aggrega- 


r:'^M 


c 


-a 
u 

u 

P 


4-1 


c/: 


o 


ac 


PEAT-CUTTERS   IN  GALWAY  173 

tions  of  individuals  as  we  saw  riding  home  that 
June  day  from  Galway.  Cart  after  cart  passed 
us  in  the  road.  My  driver  and  I  vied  with  each 
other  in  giving  them  the  glad  word;  but  in  this 
matter  none  can  equal  a  citizen  of  Galway. 
They  outdid  us  in  cordiality,  and  their  roUicking 
good  humor  was  stimulating  in  the  extreme. 
These  people  were  apparently  Celts  of  the  purest 
stock,  —  black  hair,  blue  eyes,  long  upper  lips, 
and  broad  faces,  I  had  up  to  that  hour  thought 
that  the  caricatures  of  the  comic  weekHes  were 
gross  and  libellous  exaggerations.  I  found  that 
it  would  be  hard  to  exaggerate  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  a  Galway  peasant. 

On  the  roadside  we  met  a  shapely  young  girl, 
absolutely  barefooted  and  clothed  apparently  in 
but  one  single  garment,  and  that  not  a  very  secure 
one.  In  looking  upon  her  one  would  imagine  she 
was  the  original  Jenny  Sutton  of  whom  Morris 
said: 

"  One  single  pin  at  night  let  loose 
The  robes  which  veiled  her  beauty." 

A  red  glow  came  into  the  sky,  and  a  sharp 
wind  blew  up  from  the  southwest.  The  folds  of 
a  dark  cloud  appeared,  and  now  and  then  we 
felt  in  our  faces  fresh,  cold  drops  of  rain.     Long 


174  SHAMROCK-LAND 

rows  of  thatched  houses  could  be  seen  through 
the  dusk,  and  children  played,  and  geese  cackled, 
and  donkeys  brayed;  and  a  mist  came  up  from 
the  sea  and  settled  down  over  all  the  happy 
scene. 


CHAPTER  VII 

GALWAy's    tragedy — THE    FIRST   LYNCHING 

Behind  us  were  the  gray  rocks  of  Jarcon- 
naught  and  the  luscious  greenness  of  the  Moy- 
cullen  meadows.  Eastwardly  and  on  our  left, 
stretching  away  into  the  north,  Lough  Corrib 
lay  Hke  a  sheet  of  steely  glass,  its  misty  shore 
line  fretted  with  moldering  castle  wall  and 
ruined  abbeys.  Below  us  lay  the  old  town  of 
Galway  awaiting  in  the  damp  twilight  the  fall 
of  night.  The  wet  fogs  drifted  in  from  the 
ocean  and  obscured  the  distant  views  of  bay 
and  inlet  and  river  and  field.  Descending  the 
long  even  slope,  we  entered  the  Claddagh  where 
children  played  in  the  streets,  fisher-folk  passed 
homeward  with  their  nets,  and  belated  mar- 
ket-cars slowly  turned  towards  the  green  fields. 
Then,  crossing  the  long  bridge,  we  went  into 
the  town. 

I  had  seen  much,  that  long  summer  day,  of 
mountain  and  meadow,  cottage  and  crumbling 

castle,  but  a  restlessness  drove  me  on.     I  bade 

175 


176  SHAMROCK-LAND 

my  driver  good-by  and  went  into  the  inn  for  an 
evening  meal;  then  I  went  out  again  into  the 
streets  and  strolled  aimlessly  about,  observing 
the  houses  and  wondering  at  the  strange  faces 
that  passed  me  in  the  gathering  darkness. 
There  were  Moorish  gargoyles  and  Spanish 
facements  upon  the  corners  and  at  the  entrances 
to  the  alleys.  Now  and  then  a  tall,  lithe  figure 
brushed  past  me,  and  it  was  plain  from  his  oHve 
face  and  the  odor  of  his  cigarette  that  he  had 
other  than  Celtic  blood  in  his  veins.  Couples 
of  women,  with  strange  gypsy-like  cheeks  and 
ringed  ears,  passed  me  with  downcast  faces  and 
cautious  foosteps.  They  were  reminders  of 
Spanish  days. 

The  shops  had  closed  one  by  one  until  now 
the  streets  had  taken  on  an  appearance  of  deser- 
tion. At  the  end  of  a  narrow  alley  down  which 
I  had  gone  in  a  search  of  an  exit  to  another 
street  which  I  wished  to  explore,  I  paused  for 
a  moment  to  look  into  a  little  barred  window 
where  some  great  old  volumes  bound  in  heavy 
sheep  and  a  number  of  early  engravings  were 
displayed.  Almost  instinctively  I  turned  the 
old-fashioned  door-knob  and  went  into  the 
quaint    little    shop.     Leaning    over   a    somber 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  177 

tome  on  a  desk  was  a  little  old  man  with  a 
long  white  beard.  Two  tallow  candles  sufficed 
to  give  him  light. 

"Ah!  an  American  ?"  he  asked,  then  went  on 
as  though  the  question  needed  no  answer. 
*'How  different  are  your  people  from  us  of  the 
older  world.  How  quick  you  are,  how  conquer- 
ing, and  what  a  hopeful  look  you  bear  in 
your  faces!"  Then  his  black  eyes  scrutinized 
me  closely,  and  a  kindly  smile  played  over  his 
lips. 

*'I  was  reading,"  he  said,  "when  you  came 
in.  It  is  Le  Sage.  The  volume  before  me  is 
'Gil  Bias.'  I  sometimes  wonder  how  a  French- 
man could  understand  Spaniards  so  well. 
Shrouded  in  Galway's  mists,  I  lose  myself 
often  of  evenings  wandering  with  this  loitering 
vagabond  over  the  purple  vineclad  hills  of  Spain. 
This  edition  with  its  heavy  covers  and  quaint 
old  cuts  was  made  in  Paris  nearly  two  hundred 
years  ago." 

The  old  man's  kindly  manner  and  intelli- 
gent conversation  had  begun  to  charm  me.  I 
needed  not  much  urging  to  remain  and  talk 
with  him  for  a  while.  He  was  lonesome,  too, 
he  said,  and  an   American  was  a  rarity  with 


178  SHAMROCK-LAND 

him.  It  was  a  luxury  to  talk  with  one  who 
had  a  heart,  as  he  expressed  it.  Possibly  he 
had  reference  to  one  who  manifested  interest 
in  him  and  in  those  things  which  interested  him. 
To  that  extent  I  must  confess  I  certainly  had 
a   heart. 

*'I  am  of  that  strange  mixture,"  he  went  on 
to  tell  me,  ''Spanish  and  Irish.  I  was  born 
in  this  house,  in  a  room  above  us.  My  father 
was  indulgent  with  me,  and  when  yet  a  boy  I 
was  sent  to  Madrid  to  learn  my  rudiments. 
Thence  I  went  to  Paris;  and  afterwards  I 
studied  philosophy  in  Edinburgh.  A  year  at 
Trinity  in  Dublin  completed  my  education,  and 
I  came  back  home.  My  father  had  this  shop 
before  me.  I  have  been  here  since  he  died. 
No;  I  am  the  only  one  of  my  family  in  all  the 
world  save  some  distant  relatives  in  Vallado- 
lid  and  Oviedo  in  Spain. 

"But  this  little  shop  and  these  books  —  God 
bless  us,  how  I  love  them!  — they  are,  indeed, 
my  life!" 

And  then  he  told  me  about  Galway,  its  early 
history,  its  traditions.  The  city,  he  said,  had 
been  founded  away  back  in  the  dark  ages,  long 
before  the  Anglo-Saxon  came  to  Britain.     The 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  179 

island  was  densely  wooded  then,  and  there 
were  savage  tribes  and  bands  of  wolves  in  the 
mountains.  And  after  the  coming  of  Patrick, 
and  still  later  of  the  Anglo-Normans,  the  Span- 
iards came,  not  gallantly  with  arms  to  fight, 
but  in  ships,  to  trade.  Even  the  gargoyles 
that  hung  over  the  narrow  streets  to-day,  though 
they  represented  dragons,  had  Moorish  cheeks; 
and  their  eyes,  too  human,  were  the  eyes  that 
one  sees  to-day  upon  the  streets  of  Burgos  and 
Salamanca,  or  in  the  villages  outside  of  quiet 
Avila  in  Spain. 

The  old  man  paused  and  took  his  old-fash- 
ioned glasses  from  his  eyes  and  poHshed  them 
with  his  handkerchief,  staring  the  while  into  a 
dark  corner  of  the  shop. 

"The  history  of  the  Spaniards  in  Ireland 
—  what  romance,  what  tragedy!"  And  the 
old  gentleman  paused  again  and  sighed. 

"You  wish  to  hear  a  story.  I  know  you  do," 
he  said.  "Then  come,  walk  with  me  upon  the 
streets  for  a  while,  and  let  us  gather  its  spirit 
from  the  darkness  which  is  falling  about  us." 

He  locked  the  little  door  and  placed  the  great 
iron  key  in  a  leathern  bag  which  he  carried  in 
his   hand.     Then   we   walked    up   the    narrow 


i8o  SHAMROCK-LAND 

alley,  turned  into  the  street  and  walked  some 
distance,  and  then  turned  into  another  street 
where  we  met  a  cool  breeze  which  swept  in 
from  the  sea.  We  walked  a  while  in  silence, 
hearing  nothing  save  the  far-off  swish  of  waves 
against  the  shore. 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you  a  story,"  said  the  old  man, 
*'a  story  that  will  thrill  your  heart. 

"They  say  that  Ireland  has  originated 
nothing.  It  is  not  true.  God  pity  us  that  the 
green  old  island  fathered  the  one  institution 
which  is  a  stigma  upon  the  fair  civilization  of 
your  country  to-day. 

*'See  before  us  through  the  mist  that  square 
black  building  of  stone  with  armorial  bearings 
above  the  great  doorways,  and  strangely-carved 
ornaments  about  the  windows .?  We  call  it 
*Lynch's  Castle.'  That  was  for  three  hundred 
years  the  home  of  the  most  distinguished  fam- 
ily of  Anglo-Normans  that  came  to  western 
Ireland.  Those  exquisite  gargoyles  and  the 
crest  of  the  lynx  at  the  entrance  show  that  those 
who  first  built  the  castle  were  rich,  not  only  in 
gold,  but  in  refinement  and  descent  as  well. 

"It  came  about  that  a  scion  of  this  family, 
one    James    Lynch    Fitz-Stephen,    was    made 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  i8i 

warden  of  Galway  the  next  year  after  the  Geno- 
ese with  his  caravels,  the  Pinta,  the  Nina,  and 
the  Santa  Maria,  set  sail  from  Palos  in  search 
of  land  across  the  western  seas.  The  Warden 
was  a  man  of  action;  nor  was  he  ashamed  to  be 
known  as  a  nobleman  in  trade.  He  numbered 
among  his  personal  friends  Santangel,  Spain's 
royal  treasurer,  and  the  Marchioness  de  Moya, 
the  noble  woman  who  plead  on  her  knees  be- 
fore Isabella  for  funds  to  send  Columbus  on 
his  voyage.  Tradition  has  it  that  this  warden 
sent  to  Spain  a  bag  of  gold  to  be  divided  equally 
between  the  cause  of  Columbus  and  that  of 
driving  Boabdil  the  Moor  from  Granada.  If 
true,  God  blessed  both  gifts  to  the  utmost. 
Fitz-Stephen's  ships  visited  all  the  seaports  of 
Spain.  In  those  far-off  cities  he  was  known 
as  though  he  were  king  of  Ireland;  and  wherever 
his  galleons  sailed  his  name  stood  for  all  that 
was  best  in  Hfe  —  power,  honesty,  faithfulness 
to  duty,  justice  to  the  weakest  of  humanity. 

"One  day  in  summer,  when  the  ocean  was 
quiet,  and  a  soft  mist  hung  over  Black  Head 
and  Inishmore,  a  gaily-bedecked  galleon  drifted 
slowly  up  the  bay  and  landed  near  where  now 
is  the  pier  whence  comes  the  sound  of  the  swish 


1 82  SHAMROCK-LAND 

of  waves  in  this  wind  to-night.  From  it  stepped 
forth  a  young  man  in  scarlet  attire,  with  attend- 
ants, and  rich  goods,  and  vast  bales  of  products 
from  Spain.  To  this  black  castle,  then  bril- 
liant with  life,  he  bore  costly  presents,  and  a 
letter,  with  seal  of  gold,  addressed  to  the 
Warden  of  Galway.  It  was  an  illuminated 
parchment,  after  the  manner  of  earlier  days: 

*"My  son  goes  for  a  season  to  dwell  with 
you  in  your  northern  home,  as  I  promised  you 
when  you  were  in  Spain  that  he  would  do  when 
he  came  of  age.  His  presence  will  prove  the 
esteem  in  which  Spain  holds  Ireland.  At  your 
good  pleasure  you  may  send  your  son  to  us  in 
Spain  that  he  may  live  in  the  home  of  my  fam- 
ily and  mingle  with  the  people  of  rank  in  Val- 
encia.' 

"The  letter  was  signed  by  Miguel  Gomez,  a 
merchant-lord  of  one  of  the  richest  cities  of 
Spain. 

"Young  Rodrigue  soon  became  a  favorite  in 
Galway.  In  body  he  was  beautiful  —  active 
and  strong,  so  that  his  manhood  showed  itself  in 
the  Irish  games  that  call  forth  the  best  that  is 
in  the  physical  man.  His  temperament  was 
gentle,  and  his  voice  had  all  that  softness  which 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  183 

typifies  the  Spaniard  at  his  best.  His  hands 
were  fashioned  to  the  lute,  and  Galway's  eve- 
nings were  enlivened  with  his  soft  music  and 
his  tender  old  Spanish  songs. 

"Walter  Lynch,  only  son  of  the  Warden,  was 
even  then  making  preparations  to  sail  for  Val- 
encia in  one  of  his  father's  ships,  to  remain  many- 
months  as  a  hostage  in  esteem  for  his  people 
on  the  western  coast  of  Ireland.  While  he 
yet  remained  in  Ireland  he  became  the  insep- 
arable companion  of  the  young  Spaniard.  They 
rode  together  over  the  Irish  hills  and  vied  with 
each  other  in  swimming  in  the  bay.  Together 
they  visited  the  gentry  of  Connaught,  hunted 
in  the  mountains,  and  studied  the  works  of  the 
old  masters. 

'*Galway,  second  not  even  to  Limerick,  has 
ever  been  known  for  the  beauty  of  her  daughters. 
At  the  time  of  my  story  there  was  none  in  all 
the  West  who  could  compare  with  Agnes,  the 
only  daughter  of  John  Flood,  a  wealthy  gentle- 
man. Tradition  ascribes  to  her  not  the  gray- 
blue  eye  and  the  blue-black  hair  of  Ireland, 
nor  yet  the  jet-black  eyes  and  the  olive  com- 
plexion of  Spain,  but  rather  hair  and  eyes  that 
matched,  and  they  a  golden  brown  that  glinted 


1 84  SHAMROCK-LAND 

in  the  sun.  In  form,  she  was  supple  and  strong; 
in  manner  teasing  and  laughter-loving,  and  full 
of  the  passion  of  hfe,  all  inherited  from  her 
Norman  ancestors,  a  race  of  conquerors.  From 
infancy  this  girl  had  been  as  much  at  home  in 
this  black  castle  of  the  Lynches  as  she  was  in 
her  father's  great  stone  mansion  across  yon 
street.  When  she  grew  into  maidenhood  suitors 
came  from  far  and  near  to  win  her  smiles. 
Hardly  a  castle  in  western  Ireland  but  sent  a 
son  here  at  one  time  or  another  to  sue  for  her 
favors,  nor  a  family  that  had  not  some  scion 
which  they  would  not  gladly  have  grafted  upon 
such  a  stock. 

*'But  it  was  Walter  Lynch,  son  of  the  War- 
den, who  had  won  her  heart  when  as  children 
they  played  together  about  these  great  door- 
ways; others  came  but  in  vain.  One  passion 
filled  her  breast,  one  hope  ruled  her  heart.  In- 
deed, it  was  currently  believed  that  the  son  of 
the  king  himself  might  not  have  been  able  to 
displace  this  sovereign  of  her  heart. 

"On  the  night  before  the  day  which  had  been 
appointed  for  young  Walter  to  sail  for  Valencia 
the  Warden  gave  a  feast  in  the  castle  before 
us.     From  yon  small  window  in  the  turret  to 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  185 

the  very  dungeons  underneath  bright  lights 
shone  and  gay  music  sounded.  Such  a  supper 
had  not  been  known  in  Galway  before.  All 
the  rich  and  great  were  there.  The  gallant 
young  Spaniard  was  that  night  clothed  in  purple, 
and  with  his  lute  he  pleased  all  the  vast  com- 
pany. It  was  observed  that  frequently  he  sat 
at  Agnes'  feet  and  played  and  sang  old  songs 
of  Spain  that  seemed  to  please  her  much,  and 
yet  they  brought  forth  tears  from  her  eyes.  It 
was  scarcely  a  wonder  that  Walter  should  have 
gone  apart  with  bitterness  in  his  soul.  Through 
the  long  months  which  were  to  follow,  and  he 
far  away  in  Valencia,  could  this  girl  remain 
true  to  him,  when  beauty  and  gallantry  and  talent 
dwelt  close  by  her  side  and  at  will  could  draw 
tears  from  her  eyes  ?  But  the  manhood  in 
him  prevailed.  He  stifled  the  wild  pangs  of 
jealousy  and  rage  as  unworthy  of  an  Irish 
gentleman;  and  the  next  day  he  bade  his  sweet- 
heart a  long  good-by,  and  sailed  on  a  ship  for 
Spain. 

*'Long  months  passed,  and  Rodrigue  Gomez 
still  remained  in  Galway.  Walter  Lynch  Fitz- 
Stephen,  faithful  to  the  manner  of  those  days, 
was  a  friendly  hostage  in  the  rich  city  of  Val- 


1 86  SHAMROCK-LAND 

encia,  in  Spain.  His  companions  there  were 
folk  of  rank  and  wealth;  and  more  than  once 
he  had  gone  to  the  Escorial  as  an  invited  guest. 
Everywhere  he  met  with  that  hospitality  for 
which  Spain  is  famous.  The  handsomest  and 
wealthiest  of  Valencia's  daughters  vied  with 
each  other  in  their  attempts  to  please  this  brawny 
northerner  who  sought  the  bull-ring,  the  fields 
of  wild  riding,  and  all  the  manly  sports  rather 
than  the  company  of  women  and  their  kind. 

"Once  a  week  one  of  his  father's  ships  came 
into  the  port,  bearing  a  cargo  of  barley,  or  wheat, 
or  the  rich  root-crops  of  Ireland.  Each  rough 
commander  brought  carefully  in  his  bosom  a 
missive  which  servants  of  the  palace  of  the 
elder  Gomez  bore  swiftly  to  the  young  Irish- 
man; and  upon  such  occasions,  whether  in 
the  bull-ring  or  in  a  hall  of  feasting,  he  quickly 
retired  to  his  apartments  in  the  palace  and 
remained  long  hours  alone. 

"One  week  no  letter  came.  Truly  did  the 
great  dramatist  tell  how  trifles  light  as  air  can 
confirm  the  bitterness  of  the  heart  of  him  who 
is  jealously  inclined.  Young  Fitz-Stephen  shut 
himself  in  and  saw  no  one  until  the  next  letter 
came.     Agnes  wrote  that  when  the  ship  which 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  187 

ought  to  have  borne  him  a  letter  sailed  from 
Galway  she  had  been  away  from  the  city  sail- 
ing with  a  party  of  friends  on  Lough  Corrib, 
and  had  spent  some  days  at  Castles  Ballycurrin 
and  Annahkeen.  Her  letter  was  full  of  descrip- 
tions of  the  tender  beauty  of  Inishmicatreer, 
and  Inchiquin,  and  Inchacommaun,  and  of  the 
yew-shaded  Abbey  of  Ross  and  gray  castle 
Moyne.  Her  descriptions  of  water  and  wood 
touched  his  spirit  with  melancholy  and  home- 
sickness. And  there  was  dread  in  his  heart 
and  bitterness.  Pictures  of  the  brown-haired 
girl  would  arise  in  his  mind,  and  always  by  her 
side  was  a  Spaniard  in  purple  with  soft  voice 
and  a  lute  in  his  hand. 

"Again  no  letter  came.  Two  weeks  passed 
this  time,  and  three.  He  sought  the  docks  at 
night  and  talked  long  with  one  of  his  father's 
sea-captains.  The  rough  man  said  he  had 
waited  at  the  Claddagh  for  hours,  but  no  letter 
had  been  sent  to  him.  We  had  heard  it  reported 
in  the  city  that  a  party  of  the  young  gentry  of 
Galway,  including  the  Spaniard  and  Agnes 
Flood,  had  gone  on  a  trip  half  across  Ireland 
to  Knockdrin  Castle  near  Mullingar.  Thence 
they  would  go  to  Castle  Dromineer  and   Kill- 


1 88  SHAMROCK-LAND 

aloe  on  Lough  Derg,  and  thence  again  to 
Limerick  and  home  by  way  of  Lisdoonvarna, 
Kinvarra,  and  Oranmore.  Their  trip,  now 
half  over,  would  extend  through  two  months* 
time. 

Days  passed,  and  still  no  letter  from  Agnes. 
One  morning  there  was  consternation  in  the 
palace  of  Miguel  Gomez,  and  all  Valencia  was 
filled  with  excitement.  The  strong  young  Irish- 
man could  nowhere  be  found.  Search  was 
made  throughout  the  city  and  in  all  the  neigh- 
boring cities  of  southern  Spain.  Some  thought 
young  Walter  had  been  murdered,  and  others 
said  he  had  been  drowned  at  sea  while  sailing 
alone  as  he  sometimes  was  accustomed  to  do. 
But  there  were  wiser  ones  who  said  nothing  at 
all,  but  only  smiled  and  shook  their  heads.  It 
was  known  that  on  the  night  when  the  young 
man  disappeared  a  galleon  loaded  with  wines 
had  left  the  port  for  Galway  in  Ireland. 

*'Two  weeks  later,  on  a  stormy  night  follow- 
ing a  season  of  dreadful  tempests,  a  ship, 
lashed  with  the  waves,  came  into  yon  harbor 
which  appears  so  dimly  through  the  mist.  The 
vessel  anchored  in  the  angry  tide.  Over  its 
side  came  a  man  in  Spanish  attire,  and  in  a 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  189 

frail  boat  he  fought  his  way  to  the  shore.  At 
midnight,  alone,  he  passed  up  this  street,  half- 
running  as  he  went  along.  He  stopped  be- 
neath that  window  there  —  see  how  it  hangs 
out  from  that  quaint  old  castle  of  stone!  That 
was  the  home  of  Agnes.  The  darkness  hides 
from  us  the  carved  entablatures  and  the  fretted 
escarpments.  Nor  can  we  discern  the  crest 
of  the  dove  above  the  entrance. 

*'Out  of  that  great  old  doorway  at  midnight 
came  Rodrigue  Gomez,  clothed  in  scarlet,  a 
lute  in  his  hand.  Under  that  window,  Agnes 
standing  above  him,  with  clusters  of  golden- 
brown  hair  about  her  face,  he  stopped  and  sang 
a  good-night  song  of  love.  Then  a  wave  of 
the  hand,  a  kiss  thrown,  and  all  became  quiet 
again. 

"Then  Walter  Lynch  came  out  of  the  shadows. 
A  dagger  glittered  in  his  hand,  and  his  face  was 
fearful  to  see.  The  young  Spaniard  turned  and 
fled  as  from  an  apparition.  Down  this  very 
street  they  went.  Come,  follow  me,  friend, 
down  where  they  went,  to  the  waterside." 

The  story  of  the  strange  old  man  fascinated 
me  and  thrilled  me  with  horror.  His  intensity 
of  feeling  and  his  passion  as  he  abandoned  him- 


IQO  SHAMROCK-LAND 

self  to  his  story  made  the  scene  live  before  my 
eyes.  A  veritable  Ancient  Mariner,  he  held 
me  spellbound  v^ith  the  glitter  of  his  eye.  Yet 
there  was  tenderness  upon  his  face.  I  walked 
with  him  down  to  the  bay. 

"Here  on  this  very  spot  where  we  stand," 
continued  he,  "Walter  Lynch  plunged  his  dag- 
ger into  the  heart  of  Rodrigue  Gomez.  He 
cast  the  body  into  the  tide.  When  the  morning 
sun  stole  through  the  mist  they  found  it  here, 
all  dressed  in  scarlet,  yet  stained  with  a  deeper 
crimson  about  the  heart. 

"The  murderer  fled  to  the  mountains  of 
Jarconnaught,  and  sought  safety  in  an  ancient 
castle  there.  All  Galway  learned  the  secret 
of  the  crime,  and  pity  filled  every  heart.  The 
Warden,  loving  the  boy  better  than  his  own 
life,  publicly  acknowledged  the  bitter  tragedy. 

"Parental  love  is  strong  —  oh!  stronger  than 
death  —  but  honor  and  justice,  properly  rooted, 
are  stronger  still.  The  love  of  a  father  may 
cause  bitter  tears  to  fall,  and  bosoms  to  heave, 
and  faces  to  twitch  and  blanch,  but  honor  im- 
planted in  the  soul  steels  one  to  have  his  heart 
plucked  from  his  bosom  and  his  body  burned 
with  fire! 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  191 

"James  Lynch  Fitz-Stephen,  the  sworn  War- 
den of  Galway,  the  upholder  of  all  law,  had 
never  swerved  from  justice.  A  man  of  honor, 
death  was  sweet  to  him,  when  compared  with  the 
betrayal  of  a  trust  the  people  had  placed  in  him. 

"The  next  day,  at  the  head  of  strong  men, 
with  steel  and  steeds,  he  set  out  for  the  moun- 
tains of  Jarconnaught.  Oh!  how  the  tears  of 
Galway's  women  fell!  The  young  man's  mother, 
with  Agnes  by  her  side,  followed  the  stern 
father  out  of  the  city,  begging  for  mercy  for 
her  son.  Oh!  was  it  not  love  which  had  brought 
about  this  tragedy  ^  And  could  not  one  be 
forgiven  anything  for  love  ?  But  the  silent 
man  turned  not  his  head  to  left  or  right,  but 
rode  bitterly  on.  His  honor  and  the  honor  of 
his  country  transcended  every  private  thought; 
and  ten  thousand  deaths  with  torture  could  not 
have  turned  him  from  his  course. 

"But  they  had  not  to  travel  far.  Where 
the  road  passes  Ballycuirke  Lough,  with  waters 
always  gray,  they  met  young  Walter  riding  a 
wild  Irish  steed.  He  flung  himself  from  his 
saddle  and  knelt  at  his  father's  feet.  The  War- 
den tied  him  with  his  own  hands  and  bore  him 
back  to  Galway. 


192  SHAMROCK-LAND 

"All  the  city  had  come  out  to  weep  and  to 
pray  for  the  boy's  release.  Young  Agnes,  won- 
drous in  beauty,  with  her  rich-brown  hair  fall- 
ing about  her  face,  grasped  the  neck  of  the  steed 
which  bore  the  Warden.  Sobs  and  wails  went 
up  from  the  women  all  along  the  way,  and  Httle 
children  wept  from  sympathy.  But  the  War- 
den heard  not  these  sounds.  He  listened  to 
but  one  voice,  the  voice  of  duty  —  and  death! 

"Yon  black  castle,  with  walls  tumbling  now, 
was  his  prison-house.  It  was  but  a  few  days 
that  they  kept  him  there.  His  father  spent  the 
whole  time  in  the  dungeon  with  him.  What 
passed  between  them  none  but  God  and  the 
angels  know. 

"The  day  of  the  trial  came.  Noblemen  from 
far  away  Ulster,  and  citizens  from  rocky  Don- 
egal and  Drogheda  and  ancient  Cork;  women 
from  Limerick,  richly  clothed;  stern  soldiers 
from  the  castles  at  Athlone  and  Blarney  and 
Armagh;  peasants  from  Kerry  and  Mayo;  men 
of  law  from  Dubhn  —  all  came  to  beg  for  the 
life  of  the  boy.  But  the  father  with  calm  brow 
and  white  lips  sat  still  and  sentenced  his  only 
son  to  death  at  the  rising  of  the  morrow's  sun. 
There  was  much  strange  whispering  in  the 


((' 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  193 

great  crowd  that  had  gathered;  and  one  might 
have  discerned  the  beginning  of  strange  hap- 
penings. That  night  the  city  was  filled  with 
men  from  all  western  Ireland,  and  there  was 
upon  their  faces  a  bitterness  which  might  not 
be  expressed.  The  young  man  went  back  to 
his  dungeon  unmolested  and  unafraid.  All 
awaited  with  breathless  anxiety  the  rising  of 
the  morrow's  sun. 

"That  night  the  Warden  called  the  priest  into 
the  cell  and  the  three  remained  there  in  dark- 
ness until  they  saw  the  light;  but  it  was  the 
peaceful  light  from  the  face  of  God  which  shone 
into  that  cell. 

"When  the  hour  of  execution  was  come  the 
father  called  the  stern  officers  of  the  law  into 
the  cell.  They  shuddered,  and  by  no  means 
could  be  prevailed  upon  to  place  the  rope  about 
the  young  man's  throat.  Neither  threats  nor 
appeals  to  duty  prevailed.  The  Warden  per- 
formed this  office  with  his  own  hands.  They 
then  led  the  young  man  up  the  chill  steps  from 
the  dungeon  and  flung  wide  the  great  doors 
which  opened  upon  the  place  of  execution. 

"A  great  crowd  of  blanched  faces  and  high- 
lifted  arms  met  them.     Teeth  were  clenched  in 


194  SHAMROCK-LAND 

fury,  and  loud  bitter  cries  were  uttered.  With 
drawn  swords  and  daggers  they  rushed  into  the 
castle  with  shouts:  'Release  the  brave  young 
Irishman!  Death  to  those  who  would  harm 
him!'  They  pierced  through  the  foremost  of 
the  guards  and  ground  them  beneath  their  feet. 
The  soldiers  held  their  ground  valiantly,  fight- 
ing back  the  mob  from  the  doorway,  kiUing 
many  of  them  with  their  swords.  But  the  crazed 
multitude  without  fought  their  way  into  the 
castle  over  the  bodies  of  their  fallen  com- 
rades. 

"James  Fitz-Stephen,  with  rope  about  the 
neck  of  his  son,  led  the  young  man  quickly  up 
the  great  stone  stairway  just  as  the  mob  cut 
down  the  last  of  the  prison  guard  and  stamped 
them  under  their  feet.  Reaching  the  top  of 
the  castle,  closely  pursued  by  shouting  men,  he 
quickly  made  fast  the  rope  to  an  iron  bar,  then 
lifted  the  young  man  bodily  and  flung  him 
from  the  window,  leaving  his  body  dangling 
above  the  heads  of  the  angry  mob  below.  The 
crowd  became  wild  with  fury,  and  men  swarmed 
up  the  stairway  intent  upon  cutting  the  rope 
before  young  Walter  should  die;  but  the  War- 
den, an  infuriated  giant,  stood  at  the  head  of 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  195 

the  stairway,  and  with  the  strength  of  a  demon, 
his  eyes  the  while  flashing  fire,  he  decapitated 
men  and  thrust  through  hearts  until  a  river  of 
blood  flowed  down  the  steps  of  stone.  And 
then  the  steps  became  blocked  with  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  and  dying  so  that  further  attempts 
to  reach  the  Warden  became  useless.  All  the 
while  of  this  carnage  the  body  of  Walter  Lynch 
swung  to  and  fro  outside  the  castle  walls  writh- 
ing in  death.  At  length  the  end  came  and  the 
twitchings  ceased. 

*' Filled  with  horror  unspeakable,  the  great 
crowd  dissolved  like  mist  before  the  sun.  They 
slunk  away  hke  cowed  animals,  lost  in  pity  and 
despair. 

"Then  the  Warden  drew  in  the  body  of  his 
son,  threw  aside  the  carrions  upon  the  stair- 
way, and  buried  the  corpse  with  his  own  hands. 

"The  next  day  the  old  Warden  —  for  he  had 
become  old  and  shrivelled  in  a  night  —  left  the 
city  which  he  had  ruled  so  well,  and  with  his 
wife,  now  white  and  palsied  and  bereft  of  reason, 
went  up  into  Connemara  where  a  few  days 
later  both  of  them  died  on  the  stone  floor  of  a 
peasant's  hut. 

"Yon    church    before    us    is    St.    Nicholas. 


196  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Within  it  there  is  a  great  square  tomb,  exqui- 
sitely carved  in  marble.  Beneath  it  He  the 
bones  of  the  Warden  and  his  wife. 

*'Out  there  under  the  sod,  hidden  from  us  by 
the  shadows  of  night,  are  two  other  graves,  side 
by  side.  In  one  is  Agnes  Flood,  in  the  other 
Walter  Lynch  Fitz-Stephen. 

"Even  through  this  mist  and  darkness  you 
may  see  that  fragment  of  a  wall,  and  upon  it  a 
death's  head  chiselled  in  stone.  On  this  stone 
is  a  strange  and  weird  inscription,  carved  there 
many  generations  ago: 

*  REMEMBER   DEATHE 
VANITI  OF  VANITf  ALL  IS  BUT 

VANITF 

"From  that  window  just  above  the  grin- 
ning death's  head  Walter  Lynch  was  flung  by 
his  father;  and  here  upon  the  very  spot  where 
we  stand  tradition  tells  us  Agnes,  looking  upon 
the  quivering  body  above  her,  swooned  away 
in  death." 

The  old  man  became  silent  and  gazed  up 
at  the  gray  walls. 

"Ah!  God,"  he  said,  "What  a  tragedy!" 

Then   he   was   silent   again.     His   story   had 


"From  that  Window  Walter  Lvnch  was  Hung. 
"  I'aniti  of  Vunities  —  Alle  is   Vnniti" 


GALWAY'S  TRAGEDY  197 

been  told.  We  could  hear  the  waves  moaning 
in  the  bay;  and  the  wind  came  up  and  drove 
the  mist  into  our  faces.  We  turned  and 
walked  away  from  the  place  along  the  quiet 
street. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IN    QUEST    OF    goldsmith's    DESERTED    VILLAGE 

We  were  in  the  very  heart  of  Ireland.  Be- 
hind us,  toward  the  south,  was  the  old  garri- 
son town  of  Athlone,  lying  quietly  sleeping  on 
the  banks  of  the  Shannon;  on  our  right  and 
left,  steaming  away  in  the  hot  June  sunshine, 
lay  fields  of  dank  green  grass;  in  front  of  us 
the  white  road  stretched  like  a  waving  ribbon 
as  far  as  eye  could  see  in  the  distance. 

*'Och!"  said  my  driver,  who  sat  over  the 
right  wheel  to  balance  me  on  the  left.  "Och! 
jist  think  of  it  —  the  beauty  that  dwelt  in  that 
heart  and  sowl!"  He  did  not  explain,  but  went 
introspectively  on: 

"'Swate  Auburn!  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 

Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring  swain, 

Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 

And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed  !' 

"The  picther  of  the  ould  home  niver  lift  him 
—  the   swate   ould    place   where   he   wished   to 

come  and  die!     Glory  be  his  bed!" 

198 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE      199 

We  could  have  been  talking  about  none  other 
than  Oliver  Goldsmith.  We  were  in  his  coun- 
try, near  the  spot  of  his  birth.  My  companion 
w^as  an  Irishman  on  his  native  sod,  and  he  was 
taking  me  in  his  own  jaunting-car  to  visit  Lis- 
soy,  now  known  as  Auburn,  "Goldsmith's 
Deserted  Village." 

Just  before  we  left  the  little  old-fashioned 
stone  inn  at  Athlone,  where  eel  steaks  can  be 
had  the  year  round,  the  proprietor  had  taken 
me  aside  and  told  me  that  my  driver  was  a  man 
of  "poethry  and  lore";  and  from  the  remarks 
which  he  had  let  fall  since  we  crossed  the  bridge 
into  the  blooming  meadows  of  the  country,  I 
had  reason  to  believe  that  my  host  had,  in  a 
measure  at  least,  spoken  nothing  more  than  the 
truth.  But  when  I  looked  across  the  fields 
that  stretched  about  us,  I  felt  something  Hke 
pity  for  any  one  who  could  fail  to  be  full  of 
"poethry"  upon  such  a  day  and  in  such  a 
country  as  this. 

Lough  Ree  came  into  view  over  a  stone  wall 
enclosing  a  meadow  on  our  left,  and  to-day  it 
was  not  an  Irish  lake  at  all  —  no  gloomy  gray- 
ness  hung  about  it  —  but  it  flashed  a  broad 
sheet   of  gladsome,   golden    sunshine    into    the 


200  SHAMROCK-LAND 

faces  of  the  dwellers  in  all  that  peaceful  country- 
side; and  they,  like  good  Irish  people,  stood 
looking  —  just  looking  with  solemn  faces  across 
the  checkered  fields. 

Has  any  one  ever  been  able  to  explain  why  it 
is  that  the  Irish  people  at  home  like  so  well  to 
stand,  even  in  days  of  mist  and  gloom,  and 
gaze  up  the  rocky  lanes  or  across  the  wind-swept 
fields  ?  Has  any  one  ever  tried  to  tell  us  why 
the  Irishman  does  not  love  the  interior  of  his 
home,  but  even  when  the  years  have  bent  his 
back  and  whitened  his  hair,  does  his  dreaming 
and  thinking  out  under  the  open  sky  ?  And 
has  any  one  ever  thought  out  why  it  is  that  in 
these  reveries  there  is  upon  the  face  of  the 
dreamer  somewhat  of  a  vague  sorrow  and  an 
indefinable  melancholy  ?  Is  it  that  the  Irishman 
revels  in  gloom,  and  that  the  law  of  sadness  is 
in  his  heart  ?  Or  is  it  that  indefinable  thing 
which  they  call  ''the  spirit  of  the  Celt"  which 
has  followed  him  down  the  ages  and  will  not  let 
him  be  ?  Who  knows  ?  Whatever  it  be,  on  that 
sweet  day  of  the  solstice,  when  the  June  sunshine 
clung  to  the  blooming  hayfields,  there  were  those 
in  sight  of  a  lake  all  aflame  with  dimpling  joy 
who  stood  and  gazed  sadly  off  into  the  distance. 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE      201 

Some  of  them  were  young  and  strong,  but 
most  of  the  seers  of  visions  had  hearkened  to 
some  vague  call  from  beyond  the  sunset  line, 
and  those  who  had  remained  at  home  were  but 
simple  dreamers  of  dreams.  The  old  had  been 
left  behind,  still  in  exile  —  destined  never  to 
know  the  how  or  why  —  never  to  see  beyond 
the  mountains  that  shut  them  in  from  the  rest- 
less sea  —  remained  to  open  and  shut  gates,  to 
stand  and  gaze  up  bare,  moldy  alleys,  to  look 
mournfully  upon  daisy-flecked  hillsides  or  across 
poppy-pied  meadows.  "Some  day  —  yis,  some 
Missed  day!" 

The  old  walled-in  roadways  showed  signs  of 
hfe  in  frequent  low-backed  cars,  or  an  occasional 
barefooted  old  woman  with  her  head  mufiled 
up  in  a  shawl,  trudging  along  with  a  basket  or 
a  bag.  Sometimes  we  saw  a  good-natured 
Irishman  spading  away  in  his  potato  patch,  or 
a  ragged  boy  leading  a  turf-loaded  donkey 
cart.  Or,  perchance,  we  got  a  fleeting  glimpse 
of  a  bare-legged  peasant  girl  standing  out  on  a 
rocky  hillside,  her  Celtic  soul  dancing  out  from 
the  depths  of  her  gray-blue  eyes  to  meet  the 
brightness  of  this  day  in  June. 

Far  down  on  our  right  some  long  black  mounds 


202  SHAMROCK-LAND 

came  into  view.  The  peat-cutters  had  been  at 
work  gathering  their  winter  supply  of  fuel.  My 
driver  could  not  understand  what  might  inter- 
est me  in  that  "damp,  dirthy  place,"  but  he 
was  obliging  and  veered  his  car  in  that  direc- 
tion. An  old  man  and  an  old  woman,  husband 
and  wife,  were  re-stacking  brick-shaped  blocks 
of  turf  that  had  nearly  dried.  Their  greeting 
was  cordial  even  for  Ireland.  Ah!  would  I 
tell  them  of  "Amuriky".?  They  would  know 
about  the  "grate  cities,  the  foine  farrums,  and 
the  rich  folk."  And  would  I  be  pleased  to  tell 
them  about  the  pigs;  and  did  they  burn  turf  or 
coal  over  there  ?  And  did  I  know  Timmy 
O'Mulligan  ?  It  was  strange  that  I  had  never 
even  heard  of  him.  He  now  owned  three  gro- 
cery stores  in  Philadelphia.  It  had  been  pre- 
dicted that  he  would  be  a  great  man  before  he 
had  left  Ballynacarrigy. 

"And,  sir,  are  the  wages  good,  and  is  there 
plinty  of  mate  for  all .?"  the  old  man  inquired. 

I  told  him  wages  were  high,  and  so  far  as  I 
knew  there  was  not  a  citizen  in  the  country  who 
did  not  have  a  plenty  to  eat. 

"Glory  to  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "Jannie 
—  turning  solemnly  to  the  old  wife  —  "Amur- 


Photo  by  Guy,  Cork. 

Standing  Bare-legged  on  a  Rocky  Irish   Hillside. 


GOLDSMITH'S   DESERTED  VILLAGE      203 

iky  will  yet  be  th'  home  of  this  ould  mon !  Ye  Ve 
resisted  me;  ye  refuse  to  go  with  me.  Ye '11 
miss  me  whin  I'm  gone;  but  blissed  be  God, 
I'll  come  back  to  Ballaghkeeran  a  millionaire!" 

We  left  the  old  couple  piling  the  peat  and 
just  reveling  in  dreams  of  "that  grate  counthry" 
over  the  ocean. 

The  smooth  road  passed  through  bits  of  an- 
cient wood  of  beech,  oak,  and  fir.  High  stone 
walls  of  some  estate  of  the  "gintry"  at  times 
shut  out  the  landscapes  from  view.  One  dense 
little  wood  incited  my  companion  to  remove 
his  pipe  and  mention  the  fairy  folk  which  many 
people  hereabouts  had  long  thought  made 
their  home  in  an  ancient  Danish  "rath"  hidden 
by  the  dense  forest  growths.  The  Leprahawn, 
the  little  miller  and  shoemaker  of  the  fairies, 
came  out,  they  used  to  say,  on  that  very  west- 
ern slope  before  us,  and  there  he  bathed  him- 
self in  the  glowing  sunsets  on  such  fine  days 
as  these.  This  set  me  wondering  whether  or 
not  there  was  more  than  one  Leprahawn  in 
Ireland;  but  I  let  him  talk  on. 

I  asked  if  there  were  still  fairies  in  Ireland. 

"The  ould  folks  belave  in  the  good  people 
shtill.     It's  so  all  through  this  counthry.     But 


204 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


the  young  are  doubters,  and  they,  too,  the  ones 
who  ought  quickest  to  belave.  The  national 
schools  have  done  it.  The  young  boys  and 
girruls  sometimes  even  doubt  there  is  a  divil, 
bad  luck  to  these  evil  toimes."  And  the  old 
fellow  grew  thoughtful. 

In  the  shady,  walled-in  roadway  we  met 
two  bright-faced  old  Irishmen,  contentedly  driv- 
ing a  donkey-cart.  Stopping  to  talk  to  us  a 
moment,  they  asked  me  a  few  questions  about 
America  and  "the  Irish  over  there."  Seeing 
me  adjusting  my  little  hand  camera,  one  of  the 
old  fellows  removed  his  pipe  and  said: 

**Sir,  allow  me  jist  a  word  of  advice  before 
ye  touch  the  button.  Please  do  not  do  the 
thing  naturally  expected  and  let  the  ass's  head 
get  where  Michael's  head  should  be!"  Then 
he  nudged  his  companion  with  great  glee  and 
broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter  at  his  companion's 
expense. 

"Glory  be  to  God,  sir,  f'r  the  bhssed  land 
ye 're  from!"  said  one  of  the  old  fellows  as  we 
drove  off. 

Before  us  in  the  distance  was  another  village, 
stretched  along  on  both  sides  of  the  white  road. 
The  name  of  the  village  was  Glassan,  but  my 


Photo  by  Guy,  Cork. 

"Glory  to   God!     Amuriky   will   yet    be   th'   Home   of  this  Ould  Mon! 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE      205 

driver  said  all  the  people  in  that  countryside 
called  it  the  "Village  of  Roses."  When  we 
reached  the  hamlet,  lying  peacefully  in  the 
June  sunshine,  I  observed  the  peculiar  neat- 
ness of  the  white  cottages  and  the  trim  roofs  of 
tile  and  thatch.  Rambling  pink,  red,  and  yel- 
low roses  grew  over  the  fronts  of  the  houses, 
even  to  their  eaves,  and  the  air  was  filled  with 
their  faint  perfume.  The  village  was  without 
a  sign  of  life  except  the  presence  in  the  street 
of  a  baby  girl  that  strolled  along  in  white  frock 
and  muslin  hood,  and  a  constable  in  a  clean, 
new  uniform,  who  was  leaning  on  a  banister 
talking  to  a  girl  in  one  of  the  old  doorways. 
When  he  saw  our  car  approaching  he  turned 
and  walked  rather  shamefacedly  away. 

*'The  Pinnacle  of  Kilkenny- West,"  said  my 
driver,  pointing  to  a  granite  shaft  off  to  our 
right.  And  he  explained  that  it  had  been 
erected  on  that  grassy  hill  to  mark  the  very  center 
of  Ireland.  Only  one  more  hill,  he  told  me, 
and  we  should  be  in  Lissoy. 

When  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  long 
inchne  I  bade  him  stop  the  car.  Before  us 
lay  what  remained  of  Auburn,  Goldsmith's 
Deserted  Village.     We  sat  there  for  a  while  in 


2o6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

silence.  There  was  no  real  village  in  sight; 
no  settlement  so  large  as  Glassan  or  Ballagh- 
keeran  —  only  silent  fields,  thick-checkered  with 
old  stone  walls,  and  now  and  then  a  gray  cot- 
tage with  roof  of  thatch,  a  tottering  wall,  or  a 
fragment  of  a  stone  gable. 

On  the  meadows  the  grasses  were  in  bloom 
—  sod-flowers,  field  daisies,  white  clover,  and 
beds  of  red  poppies  and  wild  roses.  The  whole 
rich,  damp  earth  was  carpeted  with  dank, 
lush  green.  The  sweet,  wild  freshness  of  the 
spring  came  to  us  over  the  meadows  that  rolled 
away  into  the  north  and  east  and  west  —  simple 
meadows  of  grass,  unworked  by  the  spade  and 
unturned  by  the  plow. 

We  drove  up  to  an  old  gate  with  pillars  of 
stone,  between  which  hung  a  modern  farm  gate 
of  wood.  A  hundred  yards  within  were  some 
tottering  gray  stone  walls  which  had  belonged 
to  the  home  in  which  the  Reverend  Charles 
Goldsmith  lived  when  he  was  rector  of  Kil- 
kenny-West, and  where  the  boy  Oliver  spent 
his  childhood  days.  We  opened  the  gate  and 
drove  into  the  yard.  Almost  in  front  of  what 
had  once  been  the  doorway  some  cows  lay  in 
the  dense  shade  cast  by  a  clump  of  ash-trees, 


c    '2 


2<l 


GOLDSMITH'S   DESERTED  VILLAGE      207 

lazily  chewing  their  cuds;  and  in  a  shallow 
pool  of  black  water  a  pair  of  geese,  with  their 
half-grown  family,  were  wading  about  and 
sipping  the  liquid,  now  and  then  protruding 
their  necks  and  making  resentful  clatter. 

"The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool." 

The  line  occurred  to  me.  This  pool,  though, 
could  not  have  been  here  In  the  good  old  rec- 
tor's front  yard  In  those  happy  days,  but  the 
geese  may  have  been  able  to  trace  their  ancestry 
back  to  those  which  cackled  so  joyously  when 
Goldsmith  was  here  as  a  boy. 

An  Irishman  of  middle  age  came  out  of  the 
weeds  behind  the  ruins  of  the  house  and  greeted 
us.  He  said  it  was  truly  the  old  home  of  Gold- 
smith. The  house  had  formerly  had  two  sto- 
ries, with  five  windows  opening  upon  the  front. 
When  It  had  a  roof  it  was  always  of  thatch. 
I  observed  that  some  new  corrugated  Iron, 
painted  red,  now  roofed  In  a  part  of  the  ruins, 
making  the  place  useful  as  a  stable  for  the  cows 
and  a  shelter  for  the  hay! 

In  1770,  when  Oliver  Goldsmith  wrote  The 
Deserted  Village  In  London,  and  received  for 
it  a  hundred  pounds,  the  old  home  of  his  youth 


loS  SHAMROCK-LAXD 

had  even  then  c^one  into  ruins,  and  in  some  bit- 
terness  of  niind  he  wrote: 

"Near  vonder  copse  where  once  the  garden  smiled 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild. 
There  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose." 

It  is  rather  remarkable  that  the  place  should 
ha\e  remained  in  a  state  of  decay  for  a  hundred 
and  thirty-hve  years  without  even  an  attempt 
to  restore  it.     But  such  is  the  way  of  Ireland. 

*'Out  there  is  the  ould  gyarden,"  said  my 
new  acquaintance,  pointing  to  a  weedy  lot  just 
back  of  the  bare,  gray  walls. 

I  climbed  the  tottering  stone  fence,  tearing 
down  a  part  of  it  as  I  went  down  on  the  other 
side.  In  the  held  —  for  it  was  no  longer  a 
garden  —  tall  weeds  and  hay  were  growing,  all 
in  bloom.  A  few  gnarled  old  apple-trees  grew 
at  irregular  intervals,  sho^^ing  that  the  place 
at  some  time  had  been  an  orchard.  In  the 
shadow  of  a  high  stone  wall  on  the  north  side 
was  an  old  shrub,  apparently  a  hlac.  An  althea, 
probably  a  scion  of  an  older  root,  grew  close 
to  a  bunch  of  old-fashioned  roses,  half  hidden 
in  the  weeds.  Wild  daisies  and  patches  of 
white  clover  grew  tliickly  about  the   spot  just 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE      209 

back  of  the  house  where  childish  feet  had  pat- 
tered long  ago.  In  vain  I  looked  for  some  of 
the  bushes  where  grew  the  fruit  out  of  which 
the  good  wife  used  to  make  such  excellent  goose- 
htrry  wine.  They  had  doubtless  been  choked 
out  by  the  briars  and  weeds. 

An  old  tenant-farmer  lived  in  a  double-roomed 
thatched  house  on  the  side  of  the  yard  in  front. 
The  house  was  apparently  as  old  as  the  Gold- 
smith house,  and  had  probably  been  used  as 
servants'  or  tenants'  quarters.  The  old  farmer 
cordially  invited  me  in  and  brought  forth  from 
his  little  libran,"  case  a  well-worn  volume  of 
Goldsmith's  poems,  which  he  opened  on  the 
table  before  him. 

The  old  wife  was  busy  about  an  old-fashioned 
fireplace  in  the  adjoining  stone-floored  room, 
baking  potatoes  and  cooking  bacon  over  a 
smouldering  peat  fire.  Some  great  pots  hung 
on  hooks  inside  the  chimney,  as  they  had  prob- 
ably done  two  hundred  years  ago.  It  was 
apparent  that  the  cottage,  though  neat  and 
clean,  had  suffered  but  few  changes  in  many 
generations. 

The  old  fellow  told  me  many  things  of  Au- 
burn and  the   Goldsmith's,  and   I   found  that 


210  SHAMROCK-LAND 

his  traditional  knowledge  coincided  well  with 
the  best  research  of  the  historians  into  Gold- 
smith's early  life. 

The  Reverend  Charles  Goldsmith,  he  told 
me,  had  lived  at  Pallas,  a  hamlet  in  the  adjoin- 
ing county  of  Longford,  thirty  miles  away  on  the 
north,  and  there  supported  himself  and  a  large 
family  partly  as  a  curate  and  partly  as  a  small 
farmer.  In  1730,  two  years  after  the  birth  of 
his  son  Oliver,  he  removed  to  Lissoy,  to  become 
rector  of  Kilkenny- West,  with  a  salary  of  ;^200 
a  year.  His  home  was  the  gray  old  mansion 
whose  ruins  were  before  us.  Here  the  boy 
Oliver  played,  tutored  by  a  maid-servant,  and 
afterwards  by  a  vagabond  soldier  who  taught 
him  the  love  of  adventure  and  the  fascination 
of  wandering  idly  through  strange  lands. 

As  for  the  village,  it  had  been  known  as  Lis- 
soy for  centuries;  but  since  the  day  of  the  poem 
called  The  Deserted  Village,  the  place  had  been 
called  "Auburn,"  from  the  poet's  fanciful  title 
for  the  little  hamlet.  Some  old  people  called 
the  village  "The  Pigeons,"  from  the  name  of 
the  ale-house  and  inn  which  was  described 
happily  in  the  poem  but  mentioned  by  name, 
only  in  Goldsmith's  play  "She  Stoops  to  Con- 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE      211 

quer.'*  "The  Three  Jolly  Pigeons"  was  still, 
after  an  existence  of  several  centuries,  the  most 
lively  spot  in  Auburn,  or,  indeed,  anywhere 
in  that  section. 

The  old  man,  in  telling  me  these  stories,  grew 
thoughtful,  and  more  than  once  I  caught  him 
looking  —  just  looking  across  the  green  fields 
into  the  sunny  distance.  I  reluctantly  left  him 
there  in  the  quiet  of  a  June  afternoon,  and  my 
driver  took  me  up  the  road  a  little  way  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  the  spot  which  once  had  been 
the  center  of  the  village.  Near  the  roadside 
grew  a  thick  cluster  of  whitethorn  bushes,  mak- 
ing a  bower  of  dense,  luxuriant  shade.  Here 
was  the  place,  my  driver  said,  where  grew 

"The  hawthorn  bush  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made." 

The  original  bush  had  grown  here,  and  for 
years  it  had  been  protected  by  the  villagers; 
but  one  day  a  carter — "bad  cess  to  his  sacril- 
ligious  sowl,"  interjected  the  narrator  —  with  a 
load  of  apple-trees  allowed  his  wheel  to  level 
the  bush  to  the  ground.  These  bushes  had 
grown  up  in  its  stead. 

Just  across  the  road  stood  a  gigantic  oak, 


212  SHAMROCK-LAND 

within  whose  shade  rested  a  stoHd  peasant's 
cottage.  Two  old  women  stood  outside  the 
door  and  welcomed  me,  giving  me  the  freedom 
of  the  place.  There  were  two  rooms,  both  on 
a  level  with  the  ground.  It  was  damp  and  cool 
inside.  Only  a  trace  of  light  found  its  way 
through  a  small  window  cut  through  the  thick 
stone  walls.  Uneven  stones  paved  the  floor; 
and  above  were  bare,  visible  rafters,  supporting 
a  rat-infested  roof  of  thatch.  Around  the  large 
stone  fireplace  were  a  few  old  skillets  and  a 
suspended  pot;  and  a  hen  picked  about  the 
floor.  Adjoining  the  rooms  was  a  pig-sty  that 
contained  two  healthy-looking  shoats.  The 
house  was  interesting  because  it  was  one  of  the 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  Irish  houses 
known  in  the  census  reports  as  '* residences  of 
the  third  class,"  and  reputed  to  shelter  a  million 
and  a  half  of  Ireland's  four  miUion  inhabitants. 

We  drove  farther  down  the  road  and  turned 
into  a  rocky  lane  enclosed  with  tumbhng  stone 
fences.  On  a  hillside  and  near  the  lane  stood  two 
bare,  gray  gables  of  stone.  Just  below  flowed 
a  brook,  half  hidden  in  the  tall  weeds  and  grass. 

My  driver  stopped  the  car  and  pointed  to  them: 

"The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill!" 


v. 


> 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE     213 

The  gables  of  the  mill  were  quite  small, 
showing  that  it  had  been  but  a  peasant's  cot- 
tage fitted  up  to  do  the  grinding  for  the  neighbor- 
ing peasantry.  And  as  the  stream  which  runs 
past  is  small,  it  is  evident  that  grinding  could 
be  done  only  in  seasons  of  rain  —  which,  by 
the  way,  are  not  altogether  too  infrequent  in 
Ireland. 

I  began  to  look  around  me.  The  place  was 
inexpressibly  lonesome.  Some  summer  insects 
sang  away  in  the  tall  grass,  and  now  and  then 
I  heard  the  croak  of  an  Irish  crow.  I  walked 
slowly  down  the  lonesome  lane  seeking  for  some 
sign  of  life.  In  the  midst  of  the  solitude, 
wrapped  in  lonesomeness,  I  found  an  Irishman 
sitting  on  a  low,  tumbling  wall  in  the  sunshine, 
slowly  smoking  his  pipe. 

"Good  evening,  sir,"  I  ventured. 

"And  to  you,  sir,  whoiver  you  be  —  and  ye 
seem  a  gintleman,  heart  and  sowl,"  came  the 
courteous  and  flattering  reply. 

I  told  him  I  was  a  stranger  just  rambling 
about  the  ruins  of  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village 
to  see  what  I  could  find.  I  apologized  for 
breaking  into  his  reveries,  but  he  assured  me 
that  no  "matarial  harrum"  had  been  done. 


214  SHAMROCK-LAND 

**Och!  yis,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  swate  ould 
place.  I  have  hved  my  loife  in  its  bhssed  pre- 
cincts —  glory  be  to  God  1 " 

And  he  slowly  arose  and  told  me  to  follow 
him.  We  walked  down  the  rocky  lane,  it 
getting  rockier  as  we  went,  until  we  reached  a 
brook,  half  hidden  in  the  weeds  and  grass,  that 
crossed  the  path  in  front  of  us.  My  companion 
stopped,  slowly  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
pointed  to  the  brook,  and  said: 

"No  more  th'  grassy  brook  reflicts  th'  day, 
But,  chocked  with  sidges,  worruks  its  weedy  way." 

And  that  was  all  he  had  to  say  about  it,  but 
it  was  enough  to  show  that  he  had  poetry  in 
his  soul. 

We  came  to  a  little  field  that  contained  some 
dwindhng  haystacks  and  a  number  of  ancient 
thatch-roofed  cabins  of  stone. 

Again  he  stopped  and  repeated: 

"  Besoide  yon  straggling  fince  that  skirts  th'  way 
With  blossomed  furze,  unprofitably  gay, 
There  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule, 
Th'  village  master  taught  his  little  school." 

And  I  was  informed  that  tradition  had  as- 
cribed to  this  spot  the  location  of  the  village 
school  where  the  boy  Goldsmith  was  educated. 


-'■">--J^ 


> 

1; 


r\ 


m    ^ 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE      215 

My  companion  and  I  then  turned  and  walked 
up  a  rocky  lane  where  we  found  a  seat  on  a 
grassy  bank  in  the  shadow  of  a  stone  walL 
Before  and  below  us  sloped  a  long  hill,  down 
which  ran  a  lane  edged  in  with  wild  daisies 
and  shamrock,  with  here  and  there  a  wild  rose 
bush  or  some  straggling  wild  red  poppies.  This 
was  the  very  spot,  my  companion  informed  me, 
where  the  poet  played  as  a  boy,  on  evenings 
when  the  sun  went  down. 

"Sweet  was  the  sound,  whin  oft  at  avening's  close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  helow; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung"  — 

My  companion  led  me  through  a  succession 
of  lanes  and  paths  to  a  long  squatty  building 
with  roof  of  thatch,  around  and  within  which 
a  considerable  crowd  of  men  and  boys  had 
congregated,  thus  celebrating  some  holiday 
which  I  was  told  was  observed  that  day  through- 
out Ireland.  There  was  a  sign  above  the  door 
of  the  popular  place.  It  was  the  "Three  Jolly 
Pigeons,"  where  similar  crowds  met  in  Gold- 
smith's boyhood  days,  and 


2i6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

"Where  gray-beard  mirth,  and  smih'ng  toil,  retired, 
Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round." 

Our  arrival  at  the  inn  brought  out  the  entire 
contingent  of  loafers,  all  of  whom  solemnly 
arranged  themselves  in  front  of  the  door  while 
I  got  a  kodak  picture  of  the  building. 

The  old  millstone  had  been  brought  from 
the  ruins  of  the  mill  and  buried  in  the  ground 
at  the  door  of  '*The  Pigeons,'*  where  it  was 
always  on  view. 

"Not  only  supposed  to  be,  sir,  but  it  is  the 
i-dent'ical  stone  of  the  old  mill,"  the  proprietor 
said  with  pride  in  his  voice.  And  he  added 
that  "over  there  in  the  trees,"  pointing  to  a 
grove  upon  a  sloping  hill  upon  the  east,  was 
still  standing,  though  considerably  changed, 

"The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill." 

My  driver,  who  had  apparently  just  awak- 
ened from  a  dream  in  the  sunshine,  drove  slowly 
up  from  the  rocky  lane  where  I  had  left  him.  I 
shook  hands  all  around  and  took  my  seat  on 
the  jaunting-car.  We  drove  up  the  lane  and 
passed  again  the  ruins  of  the  Goldsmith  house. 
The  geese  were  still  wading  and  sipping  in  the 


c 


■J       ^    c 


~3 


> 


S    "^ 


GOLDSMITH'S  DESERTED  VILLAGE     217 

pool,  and  summer  insects  sang  in  the  blooming 
grass.     All  else  seemed  asleep. 

On  the  summit  of  the  hill  we  stopped  again. 
Far  away  in  front,  resting  in  the  quiet  of  an 
ancestral  grove,  and  shut  out  from  the  world 
by  great  stone  walls,  was  an  ancient  home  of 
a  gentleman:  sprinkled  over  the  long  hillsides 
on  either  hand,  and  nestling  in  little  groups  in 
the  valleys,  were  little  stone  houses  with  roofs 
of  thatch:  immediately  below  us,  on  the  grassy 
hillside,  was  all  that  remained  of  Auburn,  the 
Deserted  Village. 

The  white  roads  stretched  away  into  the 
distance.  Long  shadows  began  to  appear  across 
the  fields  of  daisies  and  poppies.  We  heard  in 
the  distance  the  occasional  braying  of  a  donkey 
and  the  faint  cackhng  of  geese.  Pigs  and  goats 
moved  about  the  rocky  lanes:  now  and  then 
an  old  man  or  an  old  woman  could  be  seen 
walking  slowly  along.  Low-backed  cars  crawled 
along  between  gray  stone  fences  up  the  long 
hills  that  stretched  away  beyond  our  sight. 

This  was  the  very  heart  of  Ireland  —  there 
could  be  no  mistake  about  it. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    IRISH    WOMAN  — ARISTOCRAT   AND 

PEASANT 

Broadly  speaking,  there  are  but  two  classes 
in  Ireland  —  the  aristocracy  and  the  peasantry. 
The  inconsequential  middle  class  is  modern  and 
artificial,  and  is  found  chiefly  in  north,  or  "alien  " 
Ireland,  and  in  the  growing  commercial  cities 
like  Belfast,  Londonderry  and  Dublin.  In  Eng- 
land, Germany,  and  the  United  States  the  upper 
and  lower  classes  are  parasites  on  the  middle 
classes;  in  Ireland  the  middle  class  is  a  parasite 
upon  the  serfs  and  aristocrats.  The  women  of 
this  commercial  or  farming  middle  class  in  Ire- 
land are  in  no  marked  manner  different  from 
the  women  of  similar  classes  elsewhere;  it  is  the 
Irish  woman  aristocrat  who  is  the  most  interest- 
ing study  in  the  world,  if,  indeed,  it  is  not  the 
Irish  peasant  woman. 

Perhaps  no  other  women  of  the  world  have 
just  that  piquancy  and  vivacity  of  manner  which 

characterizes  the  women  of  Ireland.     There  is 

218 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  219 

an  animation,  a  force  of  manner,  a  spontaneity 
of  expression  which  makes  them  attractive  in 
the  extreme.  One  cannot  come  in  contact  with 
them  without  feeling  that  with  the  proper  en- 
vironments they  might  furnish  the  world  a  type 
of  the  perfect  woman. 

The  real  **  Irish  type,"  so  much  extolled,  may 
be  found  not  infrequently  in  Ireland  to-day. 
Sometimes  it  crops  out  in  a  remote  bogland 
village  where  the  girl  with  her  wealth  of  Hiber- 
nian endowments  Hves  away  her  years  like  a 
flower  which  is  born  to  blush  unseen;  sometimes 
it  shows  itself  in  some  old  *' castle"  of  the  gentry 
hidden  away  in  a  dark  grove  and  shut  out  from 
the  world  by  tall  stone  walls. 

The  aristocratic  class  in  Ireland  is  much 
larger  than  strangers  to  the  island  are  accus- 
tomed to  think.  All  around  the  picturesque 
coasts  and  even  far  in  the  remote  inland  regions, 
at  intervals  of  a  few  miles,  one  passes  the  estates 
of  native  Irish  titled  aristocrats  no  less  cultured 
in  any  way,  and,  in  some  respects,  more  exclu- 
sive, than  the  most  favored  of  the  aristocratic 
class  of  England.  There  is  lack  of  wealth,  it  is 
true,  and  sometimes  there  is  poverty  that  pinches, 
but  this  does  not  seriously  affect  that  native 


220  SHAMROCK-LAND 

pride  which,  when  full  grown  on  Irish  soil,  out- 
does the  pride  of  any  other  people. 

The  old  aristocratic  homes  are  generally  far 
from  modern,  but  they  are  stately  and  spacious. 
They  are  situated  back  from  the  white  walled-in 
roadways  in  ancestral  groves  of  the  densest  and 
blackest  green.  Tall  stone  walls  shut  out  the 
gardens  from  the  view  of  the  casual  passer-by. 
In  every  section  of  Ireland  this  aristocratic  class 
may  be  found,  still  maintaining  the  semblance 
of  an  elegance  and  a  refinement  that  has  disap- 
peared from  many  a  seemingly  more  favored 
section  of  the  earth. 

In  traveUng  through  County  Clare,  or  Tipper- 
ary,  or  Mayo,  or  even  rocky  Galway  or  Donegal 
on  a  jaunting-car,  you  ask  your  driver  the  name 
of  the  family  that  fives  in  that  castle  which 
looms  into  view  in  yon  dense  grove.  He  will 
immediately  out  with  a  vast  mouthful  of  titles 
which  almost  startles  you;  and  his  animated 
manner  shows  that,  in  spite  of  statements  to  the 
contrary,  he  is  proud  of  the  fact  that  Ireland, 
too,  has  its  aristocrats  whom  he  was  born  to 
serve. 

Says  Filson  Young  in  his  charming  book, 
*' Ireland  at  the  Cross  Roads":  "Their  castles 


Underwood  i^  Underwood,  New  York. 


View  from  the  Home  of  One  of  the  Gentry. 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  221 

surround  you,  beautiful  of  name  and  aspect, 
and  wearing  an  expression  of  pride  and  reserve 
upon  the  worn  stone  walls  that  gleam  between 
the  trees.  The  houses  themselves  are  often 
strange  in  architecture,  full  of  builders'  con- 
trivances and  local  makeshifts  for  what  was  too 
costly  to  bring  from  afar,  and  when  they  were 
new  many  of  them  must  have  been  ugly.  But 
the  busy  climate,  the  busy  creepers,  and  busy 
Time  soon  round  off  their  eccentricities  and 
clothe  them  with  a  merit  greater  than  that  of 
architecture.  You  see  them  in  all  stages  of 
repair  and  decay.  There  is  the  house  patched 
and  mended  with  loving  sohcitude  as  each  gen- 
eration succeeds  to  its  heritage  of  affection  and 
encumbrance;  where  the  children  go  without 
luxuries  that  the  place  may  be  kept  up;  where 
the  boys'  education  is  curtailed,  in  order  that 
there  may  be  no  reproach  when  the  will  is 
opened.  But  this  is  not  so  frequent  a  case  as 
that  other,  in  which  the  old  house  itself  is  starved 
to  pay  for  the  son  in  the  EngUsh  regiment,  and 
where  the  plaster  peels  from  the  walls  so  that 
his  uniform  may  blaze  with  the  best." 

Here  in  these  old  secluded  mansions  of  the 
past  have  been  reared  some  of  the  most  charm- 


222  SHAMROCK-LAND 

ing  women  of  the  world.  The  Irish  people  who 
have  a  reasonable  chance  generally  make  some- 
thing of  themselves.  These,  the  descendants  of 
the  Irish  nobihty  and  royalty  of  early  days,  have 
retained  until  now  the  evidence  of  their  good 
blood.  Reared  in  seclusion,  breathing  the  fresh 
air  of  the  country,  and  getting  all  the  whole- 
someness  of  good  food,  and  receiving  at  the 
same  time  the  intellectual  nourishment  which 
comes  from  substantial  companionship  and  good 
books,  these  Irish  girls  have  had  an  opportunity 
to  become  marvelous  specimens  of  womanhood. 

They  are  not  obtrusive,  these  high-born  Irish 
girls,  nor  do  they  care  for  publicity  in  the  society 
journals,  yet  in  these  old  seats  of  the  aristocracy, 
isolated  from  the  world,  and  passing  their  years 
in  the  shadows  of  gnarled  elms,  and  closely  shut 
in  with  lofty  stone  walls,  they  are  perhaps  freer 
and  happier  than  those  who  flourish  in  the 
society  of  the  capitals. 

Physically  the  Irish  girl  is  a  worthy  specimen 
of  what  a  woman  living  close  to  nature  may  be. 
The  perfect  Irish  type  shows  a  woman  somewhat 
above  the  medium  height,  straight,  well-formed, 
and  exceedingly  active  of  body  and  limb  —  all 
an  inheritance  of  a  hundred  generations  of  phys- 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  223 

ical  prowess  and  unending  courage.  Their  eyes 
are  between  a  blue  and  a  steel  gray,  bright  and 
expressive  in  the  extreme,  and  always  cheerful 
and  full  of  light.  Their  cheeks  are  highly  col- 
ored, so  much  so  that  an  American  traveler  at 
first  suspects  artificiality;  but  later  he  learns  that 
it  is  the  dampness  of  the  climate  and  a  lux- 
uriant health  which  combine  to  paint  these 
roses. 

Their  speech  is  always  English,  and  it  is  such 
English  as  one  delights  to  hear.  It  is  said  that 
the  best  English  of  the  world  is  spoken  in  Dub- 
lin. The  aristocracy  of  Ireland  speaks  DubHn 
English.  There  are  antiquated  forms  and  un- 
usual expressions,  but  they  are  survivals  of  the 
older  English  —  evidences  of  conservatism  and 
pride  in  the  tongue.  One  hears  such  pronun- 
ciations as  "cyar,"  "gyarden,"  and  "cyarpet," 
for  car,  garden,  and  carpet,  even  in  the  shadow 
of  old  Trinity  College,  in  Dublin,  spoken  with 
that  unbounded  pride  which  Virginians  display 
when  they  use  exactly  similar  expressions  around 
the  walls  of  old  William  and  Mary  or  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia.  These  little  mannerisms  in 
the  speech  of  the  Irish  gentry  and  the  polished 
Virginian  are  but  survivals  of  the  best  in  the 


224  SHAMROCK-LAND 

language    of    former    days.     One    cannot    use 
them  unless  he  is  to  the  manner  born. 

Irish  girls  of  the  gentlewoman  class  are  not 
idlers.  Housework  they  do  not  do,  of  course, 
nor  are  their  energies  engaged  by  women's  clubs 
and  social  routine;  yet  they  have  their  society 
quietly  to  mingle  with,  though  this  sometimes 
requires  long  stages  across  the  boglands;  and 
there  are  always  outdoor  games  to  keep  them 
supple  and  strong.  They  are  good  golf  players; 
at  squash  and  tennis  they  are  certainly  not  bung- 
lers; and  around  the  seashore  they  develop  great 
endurance  in  swimming  in  the  tide.  But  above 
all  things  else,  the  Irish  girl  loves  a  horse.  For 
centuries  fox-hunting  has  been  what  might  be 
termed  the  national  sport  of  Ireland.  Wherever 
one  may  go  in  the  island  he  will  find  a  hunt 
club  where  enthusiasm  for  this  exhilarating  sport 
is  no  less  marked  among  the  young  women  than 
among  the  men.  But  when  the  hunting  season 
is  over  the  horses  are  not  allowed  to  remain 
idle.  The  Irish  roads  are  perfect,  and  one  may 
travel  upon  them  in  mid-winter  as  well  as  in 
June.  A  traveler  upon  these  ancient  Irish  high- 
ways sometimes  catches  an  elusive  glimpse  of  a 
wonderful    specimen    of   glowing    young    Irish 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  225 

beauty  disappearing  with  her  horse  over  a  wall, 
or  clattering  through  a  lofty  stone  arch  home- 
ward in  a  dainty  trap. 

Servants  from  among  the  peasantry  do  the 
work  around  these  ancient  Irish  households. 
The  cooking  is  done  for  the  most  part  in  great 
open  fireplaces,  and  the  pots  are  swung  from 
hooks  as  was  the  custom  in  the  Southern  States 
of  the  Union  in  ante-bellum  days.  The  excel- 
lent mutton  chops,  the  rich  Irish  butter,  and 
the  cream  from  the  luscious  meadows  insure 
that  blooming  healthfulness  which  pure  plain 
food,  fresh  from  the  soil,  can  always  give  to  the 
one  who  chooses  to  live  the  simple  life. 

Of  course  there  are  romances  and  courtships 
and  affairs  of  the  heart.  Under  the  circum- 
stances who  could  expect  anything  else  ?  Let  it 
be  understood,  however,  that  the  outward  mani- 
festations of  these  inward  feelings  are  different 
in  Ireland  from  what  they  are  in  some  other 
lands.  Old  customs  there  may  not  be  broken 
with  impunity;  new  methods  of  procedure  in 
these  serious  matters  are  offences  on  a  par  with 
such  things  as  treason  and  sacrilege.  The  suitor 
must  first  of  all  be  agreeable  to  the  heads  of  the 
household;  and  not  long  after  he  has  crossed 


226  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  threshold  he  is  expected  formally  and  em- 
phatically to  declare  his  intentions.  Unless  he 
'* means  business"  from  the  start  it  were  better 
for  him  to  be  rather  chary  how  he  allows  his 
sense  of  the  esthetic  to  beguile  him  into  com- 
plimenting the  fair  young  damsel  upon  the  glint 
of  her  eye  or  the  peachbloom  upon  her  cheek, 
else  she  might  misunderstand  and,  confiding  in 
her  maternal  adviser,  blushingly  report  the 
happy  steps  of  her  progress;  then  the  gallant, 
if  he  had  no  means  of  escape,  would  be  com- 
pelled to  make  some  mortifying  explanations  or, 
in  case  he  were  an  unusually  *'good  match," 
run  the  risk  of  having  papers  for  breach  of 
promise  served  upon  him. 

In  many  of  the  old  families  the  priestly  con- 
ception of  discipline  prevails.  This  means,  in 
short,  submission  to  authority  —  children  to 
parents,  parents  to  priests.  In  a  book  entitled 
*'My  New  Curate,"  written  by  one  Father 
Dan,  a  genial  old  priest  of  seventy-odd  years, 
there  are  passages  which  reveal  something  of 
the  idea  of  marriage  which  prevails  to  some 
extent  in  Ireland  to-day.  He  is  describing 
home  life  as  he  has  observed  it  in  Ireland 
during   his    long    ministry.     He  relates  a  case 


Underwood  &  Underwood,  New  York. 


Milking  the  Goat. 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  227 

of  genuine  merit  in  this  matter  of  giving  up  to 
authority: 

"There  was  no  lurid  and  volcanic  company- 
keeping  before  marriage,  and  no  bitter  ashes  of 
disappointment  after;  but  the  good  mother 
quietly  said  to  her  child,  'Mary,  go  to  confes- 
sion to-morrow,  and  get  out  your  Sunday  dress. 
You  are  to  be  married  on  Thursday  evening.' 
And  Mary  said,  'Very  well,  mother,'  not  even 
asserting  a  faintest  right  to  know  the  name  of 
her  future  spouse.  But  then,  by  virtue  of 
the  great  sacramental  union,  she  stepped  from  the 
position  of  a  child  and  a  dependent  into  the 
regal  position  of  queen  and  mistress  on  her  own 
hearth.  .  .  .  Married  hfe  in  Ireland  has  been, 
up  to  now,  the  most  splendid  refutation  of  all 
that  the  world  and  its  gospel,  the  novel,  preach 
about  marriage,  and  the  most  splendid  and 
complete  justification  of  the  supernaturalism  of 
the  church's  dogmas  and  practises." 

This  indifference  to  the  matter  of  personal 
selection  in  matrimonial  affairs  increases  as  you 
go  down  the  social  scale  until  among  the  peas- 
antry a  proverb  has  been  crystallized  which 
states  the  truism  that  "There  is  not  the  odds  of 
a  cow  between  any  one  woman  apd  another." 


228  SHAMROCK-LAND 

In  many  other  ways,  however,  the  pride  of 
the  Irish  women,  especially  of  the  upper  class, 
is  almost  proverbial.  Even  though  they  may 
have  lost  their  estates  through  negligence  or 
mismanagement,  and  become  earners  of  their 
daily  bread  at  what  erstwhile  they  thought  vulgar 
occupations,  they  still  retain  their  pride;  and  this 
pride  is  disseminated  and  passed  on  to  other 
classes,  the  shop-keepers  and  even  the  peas- 
antry, until  even  the  Irish  writers  have  been 
forced  to  take  notice  of  it.  Hannah  Lynch 
takes  occasion  in  a  book  on  French  life  to  score 
her  countrymen  for  their  improvidence  and  their 
almost  unnatural  pride.  Out  of  all  sympathy 
with  the  recklessness  with  which  the  Irish  upper 
classes  spend  money  when  they  have  it,  only  to 
keep  up  appearances,  she  writes: 

"Go  to  Ireland  and  observe  with  lamentation 
and  indignation  the  havoc  made  of  home  life, 
of  family  dignity,  of  the  lives  of  unfortunate 
girls,  by  the  miserable  wastefulness  of  parents. 
On  all  sides  you  will  hear  sad  tales  of  girls, 
obliged  to  work  hard  for  shocking  rates  of  pay- 
ment, who  were  brought  up  in  foolish  luxury, 
whose  parents  *  entertained'  in  that  thriftless, 
splash,  Irish  fashion,  drank  champagne,  drove 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  229 

horses,  when  the  French  of  the  same  class  would 
be  leading  the  existence  of  humdrum  small 
burgesses." 

Comparing  the  tradespeople  of  Paris  with 
those  of  the  Irish  cities,  she  says:  "I  was 
used  to  the  simple,  courteous,  willing,  active 
tradespeople  of  Paris,  who  give  themselves  no 
airs,  dress  dowdily,  live  modestly.  I  found  the 
same  class  in  Ireland,  even  in  a  small  village, 
dressed  daily  as  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  never 
was,  with  tailor-made  gowns  worth  ten  and 
twelve  guineas,  and  with  haughty  manners  that 
would  bewilder  a  princess  of  the  blood;  the  one 
cutting  the  other.  Heaven  only  knows  upon 
what  assumption  of  superiority,  and  all  hasten- 
ing from  their  counters  in  smart  turn-outs,  duly 
to  subscribe  their  loyal  names  to  the  hst  of  the 
Queen's  visitors." 

An  Irish  family  which  she  had  formerly 
known  in  opulence  was  forced  to  give  up  its 
fine  residence  and  take  another  in  an  obscure 
portion  of  the  town.  This  fact,  however,  did 
not  deter  this  family  from  making  as  great  a 
show  as  possible  under  the  circumstances.  She 
describes  them  in  their  new  quarters:  "The 
house  I  visited  was  one  of  a  row,  a  poor,  mean 


230  SHAMROCK-LAND 

quarter,  where  no  sane  person  would  look  for 
any  appearance  of  affluence.  Over  the  fan-light 
the  house  rejoiced  in  an  imposing  Celtic  name 
in  three  words  in  raised  white  letters,  not  the 
cheapest  form  of  house  nomenclature.  A  gar- 
dener was  engaged  trimming  the  infinitesimal 
garden  front;  the  youngest  girl,  of  twelve,  was 
mounting  her  bicycle  to  career  off  with  a  com- 
panion; in  the  hall  were  three  other  bicycles 
belonging  to  different  members  of  the  family. 
The  furniture  of  the  drawing-room  was  new  and 
expensive,  and  a  young  lady  was  playing  up-to- 
date  waltzes  on  the  piano,  without  a  trace  of 
concern  or  anxiety;  no  sign  anywhere  of  econ- 
omy, of  sacrifice,  of  worry.  Yet  I  knew  I  was 
entering  a  house  where  there  was  practically 
not  a  thing  to  live  upon,  and  where  the  proceeds 
of  a  sale  that  should  have  gone  to  the  woman's 
creditors  had  been  squandered  on  unnecessary 
things.  One  may  criticize  the  meannesses  to 
which  thrift  drives  the  frugal  French,  but  I 
never  felt  more  near  to  falling  in  love  with 
what  is  to  me  an  uncongenial  vice  than  I  did 
on  leaving  my  native  land  after  this  visit,  to 
have  commercial  dealings  once  more  with  people 
not  above  their  business,  instead  of  trading  with 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  231 

the  spurious  descendants  of  kings,  whose  sole 
anxiety  is  to  make  you  feel  their  social  supe- 
riority and  extraordinary  condescension." 

Though  some  of  the  gentry  have  been  forced 
by  adverse  circumstances  into  the  ranks  of  the 
peasantry,  there  is  no  gradual  line  of  demarka- 
tion  between  these  two  extreme  classes  of  society 
in  Ireland.  A  great  gulf  separates  them  so 
effectually  that  each  has  constant  difficulty  in 
understanding  the  actions  and  motives  of  the 
other.  The  fact  that  the  Irish  aristocracy  is  to 
a  large  extent  of  mixed,  or  alien,  blood  does 
not  fully  account  for  this,  for  the  lower  class  in 
many  parts  of  the  island,  noticeably  in  the 
north,  east,  and  south,  is  also  of  mixed  blood, 
there  being  a  blending  of  the  Danish,  the  Nor- 
man, the  English,  the  Welsh,  and  even  the 
Scotch  with  the  original  Irish  Celtic;  and  the 
aristocracy,  especially  in  western  Ireland,  is 
often  of  as  pure  Irish  blood  as  may  be  found 
anywhere  in  the  island. 

An  interesting  example  of  the  misunderstand- 
ing between  the  two  classes  came  before  the 
writer.  I  was  traveling  on  a  railroad  train  be- 
tween Limerick  and  Galway  in  western  Ireland. 
In  my    compartment    were    only    two    fellow- 


232  SHAMROCK-LAND 

travelers,  a  priest  from  California,  on  a  visit  to  his 
old  home  in  County  Clare,  and  a  middle-aged 
maiden  lady,  known  to  me  to  be  such  before 
she  declared  the  fact,  by  the  frequence  with 
which  she  opened  a  basket  under  her  seat  and 
fed  two  half-grown  cats  with  milk  which  she 
carried  for  that  purpose. 

At  Ennis  the  priest  left  us;  the  lady  and  I 
being  alone,  and  she  intellectual  in  appearance, 
I  ventured  a  general  remark  which  elicited  a 
response.  We  thereupon  entered  upon  a  con- 
versation which  proved  most  interesting  to  me. 

The  lady  was  a  Miss  Jackson  who  Hved,  as 
she  told  me,  in  a  remote  and  wretchedly  poor 
section  of  Connemara,  about  forty  miles  west  of 
Galway.  She  was  of  the  gentry,  educated,  re- 
fined, to  a  certain  extent  literary,  and  used  only 
to  the  best  of  everything.  In  faith  she  was 
what  might  be  called  an  Episcopalian,  being 
identified  with  the  church  of  Ireland.  Upon 
my  expressing  surprise  that  she  was  connected 
with  this  church,  she  was  careful  to  impress 
upon  me  the  fact  that  there  is  a  considerable 
class  of  the  genuinely  Irish  who  are  in  no  way 
interested  in  the  Catholic  church.  She  fre- 
quently   visited    Limerick    and    Galway,    and 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  233 

sometimes  even  ventured  so  far  away  from 
home  as  Dublin  and  Cork,  though  she  admitted 
her  means  were  Hmited. 

The  most  lasting  impression  which  her  con- 
versation made  upon  me  was  her  frequently 
expressed  fear  of  the  peasantry,  which,  from 
what  she  said,  must  have  been  intense.  When- 
ever she  mentioned  "the  Irish"  she  spoke  with 
bated  breath.  She  took  occasion  to  tell  me  of 
the  Fenian  revolt  and  other  uprisings,  and  de- 
clared that  she  lived  in  constant  dread  of  mas- 
sacre at  the  hands  of  the  lower  order.  This 
dread  of  the  peasantry,  she  told  me,  was  shared 
by  many  of  the  gentry  in  the  west.  All  this 
time  I  was  observing  that  she  had  features  which 
indicated  that  every  drop  of  blood  in  her  veins 
was  Irish.  Because  her  ancestors  for  genera- 
tions back  had  been  owners  of  the  soil  and 
possessors  of  a  castle,  she  was  separately  more 
widely  from  the  squatters  and  serfs  upon  her 
estate  than  the  average  southern  citizen  in  the 
United  States  is  from  the  ex-slaves  of  an  alien 
and  inferior  race;  while  her  dread  of  the  peas- 
ants was  apparently  much  greater  than  that 
which  Americans  have  of  the  negro. 

This  lady  told  me  that  old  papers  in  possession 


234  SHAMROCK-LAND 

of  her  family  indicated  that  she  was  distinctly 
related  to  one  Thomas  J.  or  "Stonewall"  Jack- 
son whose  ancestors  many  years  before  had 
emigrated  to  America.  The  name  of  her  only 
brother  was  Stonewall,  and  her  family  was  not 
altogether  ashamed  of  this  great  man's  fighting 
record  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley  of  Virginia. 

I  confess  I  may  have  been  mistaken,  but 
when  I  looked  at  this  lady's  face  I  was  startled 
with  the  wonderful  resemblance  which  it  bore 
to  the  portraits  of  the  great  Virginian.  There 
were  the  steel-gray  eyes,  the  black  hair,  the  firm 
lips,  the  characteristic  nose,  and  the  high  brow 
of  Stonewall  Jackson.  Being  a  Virginian,  I  felt 
impelled  to  dofif  my  hat  to  the  very  train  which, 
disappearing  over  the  boglands,  bore  her  out  to 
her  home  in  the  rocky  barrens  of  Connemara. 

The  Irish  peasant  woman,  though  she  differs 
greatly  from  the  woman  in  the  castle,  is  no  less 
interesting  a  study.  She  is  remarkable  in  many 
ways,  though  her  individualities  must  be  ob- 
served while  she  is  at  home  and  upon  her  native 
heath.  When  in  young  womanhood  she  comes 
to  America  as  a  servant  the  picturesqueness  of 
her  life  vanishes.  She  is  ubiquitous  in  Ireland, 
even  after  three  quarters  of  a  century  of  emigra- 


THE   IRISH   WOMAN  235 

tion.  In  Wexford,  in  Kerry,  in  Kilkenny,  in 
Donegal,  in  Sligo,  and  even  in  Antrim,  she  may 
be  found  on  every  hillside  or  in  every  village 
lane.  And  she  bears  with  her  at  all  times  her 
quickness  of  perception  and  her  vivacity  of  speech. 

But  this  peasant  woman  does  not  care  much 
for  home.  She  spends  her  time  on  the  road- 
side, on  the  corners  of  the  village  street,  in  the 
market-places,  about  the  fairs,  out  in  the  fields, 
but  seldom  in  the  house  of  which  she  is  mistress 
and  in  which  she  was  born.  The  home,  or 
rather,  the  house  in  which  she  happens  to  be 
living  and  to  which  she  sometimes  repairs,  is 
centuries  old,  squatty,  and  built  of  loose  stones 
mixed  with  mud.  There  is  no  porch  in  front, 
nor  awning,  and  no  front  yard.  The  windows 
are  square  little  holes  made  through  the  thick 
walls;  the  chimney  is  of  mud,  and  the  roof  is  of 
thatch-straw  tied  down  with  ropes. 

Usually  a  bare,  tumbling  stone  wall  encloses 
a  bit  of  space  in  front  of  the  door,  and  in  this 
space,  all  bare  of  grass,  though  the  adjoining 
meadow  is  covered  with  beautiful  turf,  the 
chickens  scratch,  the  pigs  root,  and  the  family 
goat  browses.  Flowers  in  the  dooryard  are 
rarely  if  ever  seen. 


236  SHAMROCK  LAND 

Cooking  is  done  in  great  open  fireplaces  over 
smouldering  peat-fires.  There  is  precious  little 
wood  to  be  found  anywhere  in  Ireland,  and 
since  coal  must  be  brought  from  England  and 
Wales,  very  little  of  that  commodity  is  used. 
Even  the  living-rooms  are  damp  and  uncom- 
fortable, and  are  often  shared  with  the  fowls. 
It  is  scarcely  a  wonder  that  the  Irish  woman 
does  not  love  such  a  place;  but  it  is  indeed 
incomprehensible  how  she  can  even  call  it  home 
and  yet  refuse,  in  a  land  of  grass,  to  have  a  bit 
of  turf  in  her  front  yard,  or  in  a  climate  which 
produces  wild  blossoms  in  profusion,  to  plant  a 
rose  at  the  doorway  or  a  morning-glory  to  give 
a  touch  of  color  to  the  little  window  that  lets  in 
the  morning  sunshine. 

The  Irish  peasant  woman  generally  keeps  her- 
self occupied,  even  if  her  energies  are  not  usually 
expended  in  maintaining  or  adorning  her  home. 
She  usually  has  her  work  to  do,  and  she  does  it 
systematically  and  well.  In  some  cases  the  Irish 
woman,  like  the  aboriginal  American  Indian 
woman,  does  all  the  work  that  is  done  about 
the  place,  while  Patrick  is  occupied  at  the 
public-house  or  grog-shop,  an  institution  which 
may  be    found   more   frequently  in   Ireland  in 


Lawrence,  Dublin. 


An  old  Timer  coming  Home  from  the  Wood. 


■^^3* 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  237 

proportion  to  the  population  than  in  any  other 
country  upon  earth. 

In  haying  season  —  and  Ireland  is  a  hay 
country  —  the  buxom  young  women  and  the 
strong  housewife  go  out  into  the  fields  to  help 
gather  in  the  hay.  This  work  is  done,  of  neces- 
sity, between  showers,  and  sometimes  in  pene- 
trating mists.  They  also  pile  the  turfs  in  the 
peat-bogs,  and  help  to  plant,  to  weed,  and  to 
dig  the  potatoes.  They  assist  in  stacking  the 
wheat  and  the  oats;  they  drive  home  the  cows 
and  milk  them,  then  take  the  milk  to  the  cream- 
eries in  donkey  carts.  In  short,  there  is  scarcely 
any  kind  of  work  about  a  peasant's  home  that  is 
not  participated  in  by  the  women. 

It  is  perhaps  at  the  village  fairs  on  fair  or 
market  days  when  the  Irish  peasant  women 
enjoy  themselves  most.  At  these  fairs,  denomi- 
nated "pig-fairs,"  "cattle-fairs,"  "sheep-fairs," 
or  "vegetable-fairs,"  whichever  the  case  may 
be,  vast  numbers  of  women,  young  and  old, 
may  be  seen  participating  in  the  activities  of 
the  day.  These  fairs  and  market  days  are  held 
frequently  in  all  parts  of  the  island,  and  their 
dates  are  given  more  prominently  even  than  the 
dates  of  the  assizes,  in  all  the  local  almanacs. 


238  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Crowds  of  men,  women,  and  children  frequent 
these  gatherings  to  buy,  sell,  trade,  or  exchange 
their  produce  —  pigs,  chickens,  geese,  ducks, 
goats,  sheep,  and  cattle.  It  is  amusing  indeed  to 
visit  one  of  these  fairs  on  a  bright  spring  day 
and  watch  the  happy  throngs  of  traders. 

The  writer  arrived  at  a  western  Irish  village 
the  day  after  a  fair  had  been  held,  and  there 
were  still  marks  of  the  event  in  evidence.  A 
well-informed  and  witty  villager,  who  appre- 
ciated the  picturesque,  said  the  fair  was  a  no- 
table one.  At  one  time,  when  trading  was  brisk 
and  the  crowd  largest,  a  wild  pig  from  out 
Connemara  way  had  gotten  loose  and  had  de- 
fied its  pursuers.  It  soon  became  a  thing  of 
the  whole  crowd  against  the  pig  —  men,  women, 
and  boys  participating  —  and  such  strenuosity 
in  the  way  of  running,  falling,  scrambling,  yelling, 
and  using  strong  Irish  invective  had  not  been 
known  in  that  part  of  the  island  since  away 
back  in  feud  days. 

Many  men  and  some  of  the  women  walk  to 
the  fairs,  but  usually  they  come  in  low-backed 
market  cars,  drawn  by  long-eared  donkeys. 
They  come  sometimes  as  far  as  ten  or  fifteen 
miles  to  trade  or  mingle  with  the  crowds.     They 


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THE   IRISH  WOMAN  239 

bring  with  them  oftentimes  from  the  mountains 
queer  costumes  and  a  quaint  brogue;  and  they 
are  seldom  so  forgetful  as  to  leave  their  native 
shrewdness  behind.  They  are  wonderful  bar- 
gain-drivers, and  will  argue  for  an  hour  over 
the  split  of  a  penny,  or  allow  a  farthing  to 
interfere  with  a  trade.  When  at  night  they 
drive  back  home  they  go  with  the  satisfaction 
which  generally  attends  the  close  of  a  day  most 
congenially  spent. 

Since  the  rise  of  the  Gaelic  League  and  the 
many  societies  for  the  improvement  of  the  condi- 
tion of  the  Irish  peasantry,  the  women  have  been 
making  a  great  deal  of  fancy  lace  and  embroidery, 
and  selling  it  to  the  tourists  who  swarm  about 
the  outer  portions  of  the  island.  Much  of  this 
lace  and  other  handwork  is  sold  on  the  great 
passenger  vessels  which  stop  at  Queenstown  on 
their  way  to  America.  One  must  have  his  wits 
about  him  when  he  seeks  to  purchase  of  these 
sharp  women  traders,  else  he  will  find  himself 
the  poorer  from  his  dealings  with  them.  In 
many  parts  of  Ireland,  especially  in  the  west 
and  northwest,  one  may  purchase  excellent 
woolen  shawls  and  the  finest  kinds  of  linen 
drawn  work  at  merely  nominal  prices.     They 


240  SHAMROCK-LAND 

also  make  a  woolen  tweed  which  is  much  sought 
after  by  the  tourists.  Looms  are  erected  in  the 
peasants'  huts,  and  thus  many  of  the  girls  and 
young  women  find  employment  that  helps  to 
keep  the  wolf  from  the  door  of  many  a  house- 
hold. 

Since  the  establishment  of  the  National  Schools 
a  chance  has  been  given  the  girls  to  qualify 
themselves  as  teachers.  As  yet,  most  of  the 
principals  of  the  larger  schools  are  men,  but  the 
majority  of  the  teachers  are  women,  and  most 
of  them  have  come  from  the  ranks  of  the  peas- 
antry. These  schools  are  scattered  all  over  the 
country  at  intervals  of  a  few  miles,  and  attend- 
ance upon  them  is  compulsory.  It  is  quite 
interesting  to  visit  these  schools  and  study  the 
manner  of  their  instruction.  Often  in  summer 
one  sees  a  class  out  in  the  yard  reciting  under  a 
tree,  one  of  the  female  teachers  or  a  girl  in  a 
higher  class  hearing  the  lessons.  Irish  children 
are  early  taught  the  lesson  of  obedience,  and 
discipline  is  generally  easy,  though  moral  suasion 
has  by  no  means  superseded  the  birch  rod  in 
the  matter  of  maintaining  order  and  producing 
studiousness. 

Church  life  in  Ireland  is  totally  different  from 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  241 

what  it  is  in  the  United  States.  In  the  cities  all 
denominations  may  be  found,  with  the  Catholics 
predominating,  the  Episcopalians  second,  and 
the  Presbyterians  third.  There  are  a  few  Meth- 
odists, Congregationalists  and  Jews,  but  they 
constitute  only  a  small  part  of  the  population. 
In  the  great  modern  commercial  city  of  Belfast 
the  Presbyterians  control  everything.  They  have 
a  large  number  of  churches,  charitable  institu- 
tions, schools,  and  a  first-class  university. 

In  the  rural  districts,  except  in  Antrim,  Down, 
and  Londonderry,  where  the  Presbyterians  pre- 
dominate, the  Catholics  have  complete  control. 
Throughout  the  east,  south,  and  west  of  Ireland 
one  may  expect  to  find  nothing  but  Catholic 
churches  except  in  the  cities  and  larger  towns. 
The  country  Irish  church  is  indeed  a  study. 
The  peasants  every  Sunday  morning  go  to  early 
mass,  and  some  of  them  return  for  regular  ser- 
vices at  noon.  Generally  one  service  a  day 
suffices  for  the  average  countryman.  After  the 
service  other  things  are  indulged  in.  Often,  if 
not  generally,  in  summer,  Sunday  is  the  great 
day  for  sports,  many  of  the  big  cricket  matches 
being  played  that  day.  There  is  also  at  times 
Sunday  racing. 


242  SHAMROCK-LAND 

In  the  service  itself  in  these  country  CathoHc 
churches  there  is  often  no  singing  at  all.  The 
congregations  devoutly  kneel  upon  the  hard 
stone  floors  while  the  priest  goes  through  the 
long  services  in  Latin  and  preaches  a  short 
sermon  in  English  or  Gaelic,  as  the  case  may  be. 
Sunday  morning  after  mass  is  also  hiring  day  in 
large  parts  of  Ireland.  The  women  and  girls 
who  work  out  repair  to  the  public  squares  of 
the  village  and  bargain  with  farmers  for  work 
during  the  coming  week  or  month. 

As  a  rule,  the  Irish  women  do  not  take  an 
active  part  in  church  work.  There  is  little  for 
them  to  do  since  there  are  no  church  "societies," 
no  Sunday  schools  like  ours,  no  singing  of  hymns 
in  English,  and  no  church  "entertainments." 
Yet  most  writers  tell  us  that  south  Ireland  is 
the  most  morbidly  religious  country  in  the 
world. 

The  wake  is  still  an  institution  in  rural  Ireland 
and  among  the  peasantry  who  still  speak  Gaelic, 
though  it  has  not  the  social  prominence  it  had 
fifty  years  ago.  An  Irish  peasant  will  econo- 
mize and  hoard  for  years  in  order  that  he  may 
have  enough  to  insure  him  a  "foine  wake"  and 
a   "dacent    funeral"   at   the   end   of  his   days. 


'^, 


r.   .y^. 


^^  --^^^^ 


Lawrence,  Dublin. 


A  Seller  of  Blackthorn  Sticks. 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  243 

Both  men  and  women  take  part  in  the  wakes, 
though  the  women  are  the  principal  participants, 
and  it  is  they  who  give  it  its  fullest  support. 

Immediately  after  one  dies,  or  even  before 
the  sad  event  occurs,  in  case  it  is  fully  expected, 
the  usual  formalities  commence,  and  all  is  gotten 
in  readiness  for  the  wake.  The  priest  who  has 
been  on  hand  to  administer  extreme  unction 
remains  to  say  mass  over  the  departed  soul. 
This  is  done  in  the  room  in  which  the  body 
reposes. 

The  corpse  is  laid  out  in  decent  order  on  a 
table  or  bed,  and  is  covered  with  a  clean,  white 
linen,  the  most  expensive  that  can  be  obtained. 
The  shroud  is  adorned  with  black  ribbons  if  the 
deceased  is  an  adult,  or  white  ribbons  if  the 
person  be  unmarried;  and  in  case  it  is  a  child 
flowers  are  used  as  decorations.  Close  by  are 
laid  plates  of  tobacco  or  snuffs,  and  around  the 
pallet  are  placed  lighted  candles.  All  the  neigh- 
bors from  far  and  near,  particularly  all  the 
women,  come  to  pay  their  last  tribute  of  respect 
to  the  dead. 

While  all  these  preparations  are  making  the 
most  important  personage  of  the  entire  cere- 
mony is   by  no   means  neglected.     She   is  the 


244  SHAMROCK-LAND 

chief  mourner  or  "keener,"  and  she  may  have 
been  brought  from  a  distant  neighborhood  on 
account  of  her  great  talent  for  waihng;  for 
keeners,  hke  poets,  are  born,  not  made.  The 
word  "keen"  or  "kein"  comes  from  the  old 
Celtic  word  "caoine,"  which  means  a  lamenta- 
tion for  the  dead. 

The  keener  is  generally  above  middle  age  or 
old.  Her  voice  is  strong,  and  is  under  perfect 
control,  capable  of  expressing  a  wide  range  of 
feeling.  She  can  work  herself  up  into  lofty 
pitches  of  lamentation,  with  a  passionate  aban- 
donment to  grief  which  carries  everybody  in  her 
hearing  with  her.  The  keener  is  a  poet,  a 
singer,  and  an  orator  combined,  and  the  keen 
is  an  improvised  poem  in  GaeUc  of  irregular 
measures,  delivered  ecstatically,  with  a  chorus 
from  a  large  number  of  other  women  mourners 
present  coming  in  at  the  end  of  every  stanza. 

There  is  a  tradition  that  the  keen  is  of  super- 
natural origin,  and  that  it  was  first  sung  by  a 
chorus  of  invisible  spirits  over  the  grave  of  one 
of  the  early  kings  of  Ireland. 

The  services  of  a  professional  keener  are  de- 
manded far  and  wide;  and  her  usually  aged 
and    haggard    appearance,    together    with    her 


THE  IRISH  WOMAN  245 

mighty  gifts  of  voice  and  feeling,  serve  to  give 
her  a  high  place  in  the  estimation  of  all  respect- 
able people.  She  is  also  well  recompensed  for 
her  services. 

The  Irish  wake  usually  lasts  two  or  three 
days,  during  which  time  the  good  women  folk 
gladly  offer  their  services  and  lament  unstint- 
edly through  the  long  nights.  Formerly  there 
was  much  drinking  at  the  wakes  "jist  to  kape 
up  the  spirits  of  the  watchers,"  and  the  men 
consumed  vast  quantities  of  whisky  at  the  ex- 
pense, of  course,  of  the  bereaved  family  or 
estate.  In  recent  years  it  has  been  considered 
disgraceful  to  drink  to  excess  at  such  places, 
and  rowdyism  and  debauchery  have  largely 
ceased.  Still  the  modern  wakes  are  not  what 
might  be  termed  dry  parties. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  wake  the  body  is 
carried  to  the  graveyard  through  the  door  which 
has  remained  open  since  the  death  occurred, 
and  the  funeral  train  takes  the  longest  way  to 
the  grave,  sometimes  passing  through  fields,  over 
stiles,  and  across  narrow  foot  bridges,  turning 
aside  at  landmarks,  and  widely  avoiding  places 
with  evil  associations. 

When  the  body  is  finally  put  away  into  the 


246  SHAMROCK-LAND 

earth  the  mourning  women  return  home  with 
the  bereaved  family  and  offer  all  the  comfort 
and  help  which  they  are  capable  of  giving. 
Thus  this  creature  of  love  and  emotion  is  indis- 
pensable, not  only  in  those  vocations  which  help 
to  sustain  life  and  in  the  avocations  which 
brighten  the  way,  but  most  of  all  in  those  last 
sad  scenes  of  earth,  when  the  night  comes,  and 
in  some  light  which  is  not  akin  to  the  dimness 
which  shrouds  the  misty  Irish  hills,  the  traveler 
sets  out  upon  his  last  journey  into  strange 
lands. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE        TWO    IRELANDS  NORTH        AND        SOUTH 

Late  one  summer  afternoon  I  boarded  at 
an  inland  Irish  town  a  train  bound  for  Dublin. 
The  train  was  a  handsomer  one  than  those  to 
which  I  had  become  accustomed  during  my 
stay  in  Ireland.  The  compartments  of  the 
coach  which  I  entered  were  connected  by  nar- 
row passages,  making  out  of  it  what  is  known 
as  a  ''corridor  carriage";  and  at  the  forward 
end  there  was  a  large  plate-glass  mirror  into 
which  the  several  lady  passengers  aboard  gazed 
with  many  evidences  of  satisfaction. 

I  had  not  long  seated  myself  before  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  young  man  in  clerical 
garb  who  sat  opposite  me  on  a  plush  divan, 
nervously  fingering  a  small  volume  which  he 
had  evidently  grown  tired  of  reading.  This 
priest's  face  was  intellectual  in  the  extreme  — 
the  forehead  high  and  broad,  eyes  bright  and 
sparkling,    and    mouth    indicating   strength   of 

character   and,   best   of  all,  temperate   habits. 

247 


248  SHAMROCK-LAND 

I  had  no  idea  who  this  intellectual  gentleman 
could  be,  but  I  at  once  concluded  that  he  was 
a  man  of  ability  and  perhaps  of  some  national 
prominence,  as  I  afterwards  found  him  to  be. 

From  the  time  I  entered  the  train  this  young 
cleric  kept  his  eyes  upon  me,  evidently  suspect- 
ing that  I  was  an  American  traveler.  Several 
times  our  glances  met,  and  each  time  I  ob- 
served an  agreeable  sparkle  in  his  eye  which 
invited  friendship.  Another  recurrence  of  the 
sparkle,  with  a  similar  response  from  me, 
brought  us  together  with  a  hand-clasp  in  the 
center  of  the  aisle.  Five  minutes  more  sufficed 
to  give  each  a  thorough  understanding  of 
the  other;  then  he  began  to  tell  me  about  Ire- 
land. He  was  a  brilliant  conversationahst, 
thoroughly  familiar  with  every  phase  of  Irish 
life,  and  he  carried  upon  his  tongue  a  vast 
storehouse  of  information  which  he  seemed 
to  delight  to  impart  to  the  one  who  was  inter- 
ested in  a  subject  so  congenial  to  him.  At 
times  when  he  discussed  such  topics  as  the 
Celtic  revival  of  literature  and  the  new  move- 
ments for  Ireland's  upHft  his  speech  fairly 
scintillated  with  bon  mot  and  epigram. 

He  was  a  priest  of  the  CathoHc  church,  and 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  249 

he  resided  much  of  his  time  in  Dublin  and 
London.  This  much  he  told  me  about  his 
personal  Hfe.  Further  than  this  I  felt  a  hesi- 
tancy in  causing  him  to  go,  though  I  delighted 
to  hear  him  express  his  clear-cut  views  upon 
Irish  subjects,  and  I  drew  him  out  by  telling 
him  of  things  I  had  heard  about  Ireland  and 
asking  him  if  such  things  were  true.  An  Irish 
Protestant  would  hardly  be  willing  to  believe 
that  a  Catholic  priest  could  be  so  liberal  in  his 
views  as  he  was  and  so  charitable  in  his  remarks 
about  Irish  Protestantism.  He  told  me  that 
many  of  the  criticisms  which  I  had  heard  and 
read  of  the  Irish  Catholic  church  were  true; 
perhaps  too  true.  No  doubt  I  had  not  heard 
all  that  could  be  brought  against  the  church. 
The  priests  in  many  cases  did  have  too  much 
power;  there  was  corruption  beyond  any  doubt; 
the  church  in  some  sections  was  certainly  not 
doing  the  work  it  should  be  doing.  He  for  one 
wished  all  these  corruptions  to  be  exposed;  he 
rejoiced  at  all  that  had  been  published  against 
these  evils,  provided  these  things  brought  out 
were  true,  even  though  the  enemies  of  the 
church  had  published  them.  The  truth  might 
sometimes   cause   consternation   and   unrest;  it 


250  SHAMROCK-LAND 

might  revolutionize  society;  but  he  was  a  Catho- 
lic of  such  fiber  as  to  believe  that  whatever  the 
truth  could  injure  was  not  genuine,  and  if  truth 
succeeded  in  destroying  the  Roman  CathoHc 
church  he  would  accept  the  ultimatum  without 
a  murmur.  But  he  believed  the  truth  would 
only  purge  it  of  its  dross  and  leave  the  gold 
behind. 

He  discussed  with  me  the  two  Irelands,  Prot- 
estant North  and  CathoHc  East,  South  and 
West.  Much  had  been  said  and  written  on 
both  sides,  and  he  was  sure  there  were  two  sides 
to  this  as  there  were  to  every  other  question. 
He  was  particularly  anxious  that  I  should  read 
some  books  which  had  been  written  upon  Ire- 
land. He  wrote  in  my  note-book  the  names  of 
a  few  of  the  best  recent  books.  The  first  of 
these  was  "Ireland  in  the  New  Century,"  a 
widely-circulated  volume  by  Sir  Horace  Plun- 
kett,  an  Irish  Protestant  and  a  most  enthusiastic 
reformer.  Then  there  followed,  *' To-day  and 
To-morrow  in  Ireland,"  a  collection  of  sketches 
by  Stephen  Gwynn,  a  charming  writer.  **The 
Seething  Pot,"  and  **An  Alien  of  the  West" 
were  two  excellent  pieces  of  fiction  written 
from  the  Protestant  point  of  view.     And  there 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  251 

was  a  unique  little  volume  called  "Ireland  at 
the  Cross-Roads'*  which  had  had  a  wide  cir- 
culation throughout  the  British  Isles.  It  was 
perhaps  a  little  wordy,  and  in  places  contained 
some  tall  writing,  but  it  would  certainly  help 
to  a  better  understanding  of  modern  Ireland. 
"Ireland  Industrial  and  Agricultural,"  by  W. 
P.  Coyne,  would  give  me  such  information  as 
I  wished  in  regard  to  Irish  products  and  man- 
ufactures. 

These  and  a  number  of  other  volumes  he 
recommended  that  I  purchase  and  read.  If 
I  would  go  to  the  National  Library  in  Dublin 
and  present  the  name  which  he  wrote  in  my 
note-book  I  would  certainly  get  the  best  of 
attention  at  the  hands  of  the  librarians.  The 
name  I  afterwards  presented  with  almost  mag- 
ical results;  though  the  officials  of  the  library 
I  found  to  be  polite  and  obliging  in  the  extreme 
even  to  those  who  came  without  a  password. 

As  we  neared  Dublin  the  companionable 
young  priest  told  me  he  had  visited  America. 
His  last  trip  across  the  Atlantic  was  taken  for 
the  purpose  of  delivering  a  series  of  lectures 
on  Ireland  at  one  of  the  great  universities  of 
New    England. 


252  SHAMROCK-LAND 

I  spent  some  days  in  Dublin,  which  I  found 
to  be  a  delightful  city,  handsomely  built,  with 
broad  streets,  impressive  buildings,  and  many 
interesting  sights.  Being  the  capital  of  Ireland, 
and  very  accessible  to  England,  it  is  a  cosmo- 
politan city  with  a  large  Protestant  population, 
though,  of  course,  Catholicism  predominates. 
The  number  of  Dublin's  inhabitants  about 
equals  that  of  New  Orleans,  Cincinnati, 
Havana,  or  Edinburgh,  and  it  is  growing, 
if  not  rapidly,  yet  steadily  and  surely.  The 
country  surrounding  the  city,  with  wonderful 
mountains  in  the  background,  is  gorgeously 
beautiful  and  one  such  as  the  eye  dehghts  to 
dwell  upon. 

Leaving  Dublin,  I  traveled  by  train  up  the 
eastern  coast  through  the  ancient  siege-town  of 
Drogheda,  where  the  bloody  Cromwell  massacre 
occurred  in  1649,  ^^^  where  the  Battle  of  the 
Boyne  was  fought  forty  years  later.  Thence  I 
went  to  Dundalk  where  Edward  Bruce  was 
crowned  King  of  Ireland,  and  where  he  was 
killed  in  131 8.  Later  I  visited  Newry,  a  small 
city  in  county  Down  where  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  some  intellectual  people  to  whom 
I   had    letters  of   introduction.     From    Newry 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  253 

I  proceeded  to  Belfast,  the  great  commercial 
metropolis  of  Ireland.  After  crossing  the  river 
Bann  in  county  Down,  into  Ulster  proper,  I 
observed  a  great  difference  in  the  appearance 
of  the  country.  The  fields  were  better  culti- 
vated, flax  and  potatoes  and  oats  were  growing 
in  luxuriancy,  and  there  was  exhibited  an  effort 
at  real  farming  which  I  had  not  observed  any- 
where in  rich  South  Ireland.  The  smoke- 
stacks of  factories  could  be  observed  in  all  the 
busy  towns  which  succeeded  each  other  along 
the  railroad.  At  Portadown  and  Lurgan  and 
Lisburn  there  were  evidences  of  much  com- 
mercial activity.  I  had  gotten  into  the  flax 
country,  and  great  new  linen  mills  arose  on 
every  hand.  In  approaching  Belfast  one  might 
have  thought  he  was  entering  Glasgow  or  Pitts- 
burg, so  busy  and  smoky  everything  appeared. 
Even  in  the  far-outlying  suburbs  there  were 
long  lines  of  handsome  new  houses,  and  miles 
of  freshly-paved  streets.  Immense  linen  fac- 
tories were  built  even  out  in  the  grassy  fields; 
and  as  we  entered  the  city  I  was  impressed  with 
the  immense  stores,  churches,  warehouses,  dwell- 
ings and  places  of  amusement,  which  had  been 
newly  erected,  or  were  in  the  process  of  building. 


254  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Belfast  is  one  of  the  busiest  cities  of  the  Brit- 
ish Isles.  It  manufactures  the  finest  linens  in 
the  world,  and  builds  such  steamships  as  the 
"Celtic" and  the  "Cedric"of  the  White  Star  Line. 
In  population  it  has  far  eclipsed  Dublin,  its 
growth  during  the  last  quarter  century  having 
been  quite  phenomenal.  Its  population  at  this 
time  is  about  400,000,  and  it  is  the  commercial 
capital  of  that  portion  of  Ireland  known  as  the 
Province  of  Ulster. 

It  may  not  be  improper  here  to  repeat  that  early 
Ireland  was  divided  among  many  tribes  and  into 
many  kingdoms.  At  the  death  of  Brian  Boru, 
which  occurred  upon  the  day  when  he  gained 
his  great  victory  over  the  Danes  at  Clontarf  in 
1014,  the  country  was  divided  amongst  four 
rulers,  each  of  the  four  sections  being  a  federa- 
tion of  tribes  and  ruling  families.  These  four 
kingdoms  of  the  north,  east,  south  and  west 
bore  the  Latin  names  Ulidia,  Lagenia,  Mo- 
nonia,and  Conacia, which  have  been  modernized 
into  Ulster,  Leinster,  Munster  and  Connaught. 
These  great  divisions  of  Ireland  hold  to-day, 
though  each  is  subdivided  into  a  number 
of  counties;  and  the  great  divisions  them- 
selves   have    no    special    political    significance. 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  255 

The  province  of  Ulster  comprises  fourteen 
counties  in  the  north  of  the  island,  all  except 
the  five  northernmost  counties  being  small. 

The  Ulster  section  of  Ireland  may  be  said  to 
be  dominated  by  the  three  intensely  Protestant 
counties  of  Antrim,  Down  and  Londonderry. 
Here  wt  find  to-day  such  devotion  to  English 
rule  that  our  memories  must  be  revived  by 
history  to  realize  that  Ulster  was  the  province 
which  held  out  longest  against  English  aggres- 
sion; and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty, 
and  only  after  intense  effort  that  it  was  finally 
subjugated.  Even  after  the  country  had  ap- 
parently been  conquered  there  were  repeated 
uprisings  and  rebellions.  In  EHzabeth's  reign 
O'Neil,  Earl  of  Tyrone,  and  O'Donnell,  Earl 
of  Tyrconnel,  headed  a  revolt,  and  after  much 
hard  fighting  were  forced  to  flee  from  the  coun- 
try to  Rome  where  after  some  years  both  of 
them  died  as  exiles.  James  I,  whose  reign 
began  in  the  year  1603,  when  Elizabeth  died, 
and  continued  until  1625,  used  this  rebellion 
as  a  pretext  for  dispossessing  the  Irish  people 
of  their  lands,  and  it  was  in  his  reign  that  the 
"Plantation  of  Ulster"  was  made.  The  land 
was  taken  away  from  the  Irish  and  turned  over 


256  SHAMROCK-LAND 

to  an  anti-Irish  colony  of  Englishmen  and 
Scotchmen.  At  one  stroke  the  entire  counties 
of  Donegal,  Derry,  Tyrone,  Fermanagh,  Cavan 
and  Armagh  were  confiscated.  Thus  began 
the  Scotch  settlement  of  Ulster  which  continued 
through  several  generations.  To-day  north- 
eastern Ulster  is  not  only  the  most  intensely 
Protestant  section  of  Ireland  but  possibly  of 
the  entire  world. 

One  finds  in  Ulster  Ireland,  more  particularly 
in  Antrim,  Down  and  Londonderry,  where 
the  Scotch  and  English  elements  have  full  pos- 
session of  the  soil,  a  Protestantism  which  never 
relaxes  its  aggressive  antagonism  to  Catholicism. 
It  may  be  said  that  the  intensest  hatreds  of  the 
world  exist  between  the  Scotch-Irish  of  the 
North,  and  the  Celtic  and  Catholic  Irish  of 
the  South,  East  and  West  of  Ireland.  Perhaps 
an  American  citizen  can  best  understand  the 
intensity  of  this  feeling  by  recalling,  if  he  can, 
the  bitterness,  now  happily  disappeared,  which 
was  felt  in  the  United  States  between  the  North 
and  the  South  during  Reconstruction  days. 
Certainly  ever  since  the  "Plantation  of  Ulster" 
these  hatreds  have  existed  in  Ireland,  and  the 
centuries  have  but  served  to  intensify  them. 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  257 

One  day  when  riding  in  an  electric  tram-car 
which  ran  from  the  heart  of  Belfast  out  to  Cave 
Hill,  a  grassy  mountain  beyond  the  suburbs, 
the  conductor  of  the  car  observed  a  small 
Masonic  pin  upon  my  lapel,  and  felt  permitted 
to  engage  me  in  conversation.  There  were  few 
passengers  aboard,  so  we  talked  together  for 
some  time.  He  was  surprised  that  I  was  bold 
enough  to  travel  through  the  South  and  West 
of  Ireland  with  a  Masonic  emblem  in  view. 
He  was  a  Mason,  but  he  declared  he  would 
certainly  not  be  willing  to  wear  a  Masonic  pin 
through  Munster. 

This  young  man  was  also  a  Presbyterian  and 
an  Orangeman.  He  explained  to  me  just  what 
this  latter  term  meant.  The  Society  of  Orange- 
men was  a  secret  order  of  Protestants  organized 
and  maintained  primarily  to  oppose  Cath- 
olic aggression  in  Ireland.  The  order  had  an 
elaborate  ritual  and  conferred  many  degrees 
upon  its  candidates.  It  was  an  extensive  society, 
and  numbered  among  its  members  thousands 
of  north  Irishmen,  some  of  them  men  of  con- 
siderable prominence. 

This  society  took  its  name  from  William, 
Prince   of  Orange,   who   after   coming   to   the 


258  SHAMROCK-LAND 

throne  with  the  "Bloodless  Revolution"  in 
1688,  set  out  to  drive  the  deposed  James  II 
out  of  Ireland  whither  he  had  come  from  his 
exiled  home  in  France  to  stir  up  a  rebellion. 
The  two  armies  met  near  Drogheda,  on  the 
eastern  coast,  where  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne 
was  fought  on  July  i,  1690.  James  fled  from 
the  field  and  his  army  was  overwhelmingly 
defeated.  The  cowardice  of  James  moved  even 
his  followers  to  scorn.  "Change  kings  with 
us,"  said  a  taunted  Irish  soldier,  "and  we  will 
fight  you  again." 

The  Battle  of  the  Boyne  was  essentially  a 
Protestant  victory  over  the  Catholics.  Since 
that  time  this  Protestant  Society  of  Orangemen 
have  felt  called  upon  to  do  their  utmost  in  the 
way  of  resisting  the  Catholics,  and  their  hatred 
of  Catholicism  is  returned  in  kind  by  the  south- 
ern Irish.  Naturally,  the  south  Irish  hate 
British  control,  and  have  for  many  years  been 
contending  for  "Home  Rule."  The  Orange- 
men of  the  North,  more  nearly  identified  with 
the  rest  of  Great  Britain,  are  Unionists,  and 
are  outward  opponents  of  home  rule.  The 
favorite  pohtical  cry  of  the  South,  "Down  with 
the  King!"  is  answered  through  the  clenched 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  259 

teeth  of  the  Orangemen  with  the  irreverent 
imprecation,  **To  hell  with  the  Pope!" 

Plainly  speaking,  the  Ulster  Protestants  op- 
pose home  rule  in  Ireland  because  home  rule 
means  the  rule  of  the  majority,  and  the  great 
majority  in  Ireland  is  Catholic.  If  the  major- 
ity in  Ireland  had  been  Protestant  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  they  would  have  had  home  rule  gen- 
erations ago.  Upon  the  platforms  the  gigantic 
controversies  which  have  been  carried  on  were 
based  principally  upon  religious  and  poHtical 
grounds,  the  northern  Protestants  asserting  that 
chaos  would  reign  if  the  government  of  the 
island  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Catholics, 
which  meant  really  the  priests. 

The  business  interests  of  the  North  have 
also  been  intensely  opposed  to  home  rule. 
When  Mr.  Gladstone  was  attempting  to  get 
his  Home  Rule  bill  through  Parliament  strong 
petitions  were  presented  against  the  measure 
by  the  manufacturers  of  Ulster.  Writing  of 
this  matter,  Sir  Horace  Plunkett  says: 

"The  intensely  practical  nature  of  the  ob- 
jection which  came  from  the  commercial  and 
industrial  classes  of  the  North  who  opposed 
Home  Rule  was  never  properly  recognized  in 


26o  SHAMROGK-LAND 

Ireland.  It  was,  and  is  still  unanswered. 
Briefly  stated,  the  position  taken  by  their  spokes- 
men was  as  follows:  *We  have  come,'  they  said 
in  effect,  'into  Ireland,  and  not  the  richest  por- 
tion of  the  island,  and  have  gradually  built  up 
an  industry  and  commerce  with  which  we  are 
able  to  hold  our  own  in  competition  with  the 
most  progressive  nations  in  the  world.  Our 
success  has  been  achieved  under  a  system  and 
a  polity  in  which  we  believe.  Its  non-inter- 
ference with  the  business  of  the  people  gave 
play  to  that  self-reliance  with  which  we  strove 
to  emulate  the  industrial  qualities  of  the  people 
of  Great  Britain.  It  is  now  proposed  to  place 
the  manufactures  and  commerce  of  the  country 
at  the  mercy  of  a  majority  which  will  have  no 
real  concern  in  the  interests  vitally  affected, 
and  who  have  no  knowledge  of  the  science  of 
government.  The  mere  shadow  of  these  changes 
has  so  depressed  the  stocks  which  represent 
the  accumulations  of  our  past  enterprise  and 
labor  that  we  are  already  commercially  poorer, 
than  we  were.'" 

When  in  Ireland  I  talked  with  the  southern 
Irish  as  well  as  those  of  the  North  about  the 
differences,   particularly  in   an   industrial   way, 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  261 

between  the  two  sections.  I  frequently  asked, 
just  because  I  wanted  the  information,  why 
the  province  of  Ulster  shows  such  activity  and 
Munster  and  Connaught  are  so  stagnant.  Some 
of  those  with  whom  I  talked  offered  one  answer, 
some  another.  Mr.  T.  P.  O'Connor  told  me 
it  was  due  to  the  favoritism  which  the  National 
Government  had  lavished  upon  Ulster  from 
the  first  Scotch  settlement.  Prominent  editors 
and  professional  men  of  the  North  told  me  it 
was  due  to  the  difference  in  the  stock  of  the 
people  and  the  religion  which  they  professed. 
They  accused  the  south  Irish  of  being  lazy  in 
the  first  place  and  priest-ridden  in  the  second. 

I  talked  plainly  with  a  number  of  Catholic 
priests  in  the  South  about  this  very  matter. 
They  disclaimed  any  great  interference  with 
the  liberties  and  rights  of  the  people.  In 
defending  the  southern  Irish,  they  laid  the 
blame  for  their  non-progress  upon  the  evils 
of  landlordism  and  past  oppressions  on  the  part 
of  the  Government. 

I  was  uniformly  well  treated  by  all  the  south 
Irish  with  whom  I  came  in  contact,  and  es- 
pecially by  the  priests  whom  I  found  to  be 
kind,   cordial,  good-natured  and   hospitable  to 


262  SHAMROCK-LAND 

a  fault.  All  this,  too,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
they  knew  me  to  be  a  Protestant  and  openly 
a  member  of  a  secret  society  which  as  it  exists 
in  Ireland  they  possibly  have  a  reason  to  dis- 
like. They  told  me  that  most  of  the  hatred 
which  existed  between  the  two  elements  in  Ire- 
land was  mostly  in  the  hearts  of  the  Protestants; 
the  Catholics  had  almost  forgotten  the  old 
antipathies. 

I  believe  there  may  be  a  number  of  black 
sheep  among  the  priesthood  in  south  Ireland — 
men  immoral,  dissipated  and  profane,  and  who 
are  in  the  ministry  for  what  they  can  get  out 
of  it  —  but  to  say  that  even  a  respectable  minor- 
ity are  vicious  men  would,  I  believe,  be  stating 
a  monstrous  untruth.  Besides,  in  the  North 
there  may  be  little  or  no  intemperance  or  im- 
morality among  the  Protestant  clergy,  yet  from 
what  I  observed  and  heard  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  there  is  with  them  much  more  in- 
tolerance than  with  the  Catholic  clergy;  and 
it  is  indeed  a  question  whether  anything  can 
be  worse  than  a  life  spent  in  nourishing  in  the 
heart  bitterness  and  hatred  towards  one's  fellow- 
creatures. 

Yet  a  stranger  cannot  help  seeing  the  vast 


THE  TWO   IRELANDS  263 

difference  which  exists  between  North  and 
South  Ireland.  It  may  be  observed  even  in 
the  appearance  of  the  people.  Throughout  the 
South  one  meets  with  a  preponderance  of 
the  Gaelic  or  Celtic  characteristics  —  black 
hair,  broad  faces,  and  grayish-blue  eyes.  In 
Antrim,  Down  and  Londonderry  one  sees  men 
and  women  of  light  or  reddish  hair,  blue  eyes, 
and  very  ruddy  complexions.  The  speech  of 
the  North  is  quick,  vigorous  and  strong,  de- 
cidedly Scotch  in  its  accent.  The  Irish  brogue 
of  the  South,  soft  and  in  some  respects 
pleasing,  disappears  almost  entirely  when  one 
crosses  the  boundary  of  county  Down  into 
Ulster. 

The  difference  between  the  two  sections 
also  shows  itself  in  the  fields,  which,  stagnant 
and  reverting  to  pastures  in  the  South  and 
West,  are  cultivated  more  and  more  intensively 
in  the  North.  In  the  South,  outside  of  a  few 
cities  such  as  Cork  and  Limerick,  where  some 
activity  may  be  discerned,  there  are  few  man- 
ufacturing establishments  of  any  kind;  in  Ulster 
smokestacks  arise  on  every  hand.  The  differ- 
ence in  the  industrial  respect  between  counties 
Antrim,  in  Ulster,  and  Kerry,  in  Munster,  or, 


264  SHAMROCK-LAND 

say,  Sligo,  in  Connaught,  is  about  such  as  exists 
between  Pennsylvania  and  New  Mexico. 

The  rehgious  differences  are  also  great;  and 
they  make  a  most  interesting  study.  When  in 
Dublin  I  had  access  to  the  official  census  statis- 
tics first-hand,  and  I  made  note  of  a  number 
of  important  items. 

The  last  official  census  of  the  population 
was  taken  in  1901.  By  that  census  we  learn 
that,  barring  changes  made  in  the  seven  years 
since  that  time,  which  do  not  materially  change 
the  proportions,  there  are  4,458,775  people  in 
the  island,  of  whom  3,308,661  are  Catholics, 
581,089  Episcopahans,  443,276  Presbyterians, 
and  61,976  Methodists.  There  are  also  a 
small  number  of  Unitarians,  Congregational- 
ists.  Baptists,  and  other  scattering  sects  in  the 
large  cities.  Of  the  entire  number  of  Presby- 
terians, 426,177  live  in  Ulster,  leaving  a  small 
remainder  of  17,000  scattered  through  other 
parts  of  the  island.  Of  the  Episcopalians, 
359,898  dwell  in  Ulster,  leaving  222,000  for  the 
rest  of  the  island.  It  might  be  stated  that 
this  church  was  formerly  the  "Established 
Church"  of  Ireland,  precisely  as  the  church 
was  also  established   in   England;  and   it  was 


^  ^ 


1/       ^ 


< 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  265 

supported  by  the  Government.  Mr.  Glad- 
stone succeeded  in  having  the  church  disestab- 
hshed  in  1868.  The  number  of  Methodists 
in  Ulster  is  47,172,  leaving  about  15,000  for 
other  sections.  Offsetting  this  large  number 
of  Protestants  in  Ulster,  there  are  in  that  prov- 
ince 699,152  Catholics,  the  vast  majority  of 
w^hom  inhabit  the  eleven  small  southernmost 
counties,  leaving  Antrim,  Down  and  London- 
derry almost  purely  Protestant. 

In  all  Ireland  the  Catholics  constitute  74.20 
per  cent,  of  the  population;  the  Episcopalians, 
13.03  per  cent.,  the  Presbyterians,  9.94  per 
cent.,  and  the  Methodists,  1.39  per  cent.  In 
the  decade  between  1891  and  1901  the  Roman 
Catholics  lost  6  per  cent,  of  their  population; 
the  Episcopalians,  3  per  cent.;  and  the  Pres- 
byterians, .04  per  cent.  While  the  Catholic 
and  the  Episcopal  churches  are  gradually  los- 
ing ground  in  proportion  to  the  population, 
the  Presbyterians  are  gradually  gaining.  This 
gain  of  the  Presbyterians  is  all  shown  in  Ulster. 

The  Irish  Presbyterian  church  is  a  most 
interesting  body,  vigorous  and  aggressive  in 
the  extreme,  with  strong  missionary  tendencies. 
These    Presbyterians   are    descended    not   only 


266  SHAMROCK-LAND 

from  the  settlers  who  came  at  the  time  of  the 
"Plantation"  under  James,  but  also  from  Eng- 
Hsh  and  Scotch  non-conformist  refugees,  and 
officers  and  soldiers  of  the  armies  of  Cromwell 
and  WiUiam  III.  They  have  at  this  time  five 
synods,  36  presbyteries,  660  ministers,  and 
106,665  communicants. 

In  his  readable  book,  *' Ireland  at  the  Cross- 
Roads,"  Mr.  Filson  Young  tersely  and  epi- 
grammatically  contrasts  the  different  sections 
and  religious  beliefs  of  Ireland.  He  scores 
strongly  the  Catholic  church  for  its  despotic 
power  over  the  masses,  but  states  that  he  would 
score  any  church  that  would  enthrall  a  people 
as  Catholicism  has  done  Ireland.  He  also 
writes  scathingly  of  the  Presbyterians  of  the 
North  for  their  narrowness  and  bigotry;  and 
he  reminds  the  Episcopalians,  with  an  ironical 
touch,  of  their  pride  and  unwarranted  pomp. 
His  description  of  the  Ulster  village,  with  its 
sects,  is  unusually  instructive  as  coming  from 
one  who  has  observed  these  matters  from  child- 
hood.    Thus  he  writes: 

"In  every  little  village  of  the  North  of  Ire- 
land the  population  is  strictly  divided  into  at 
least  three  camps — Presbyterians,  Roman  Cath- 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  267 

olics,  and  Episcopalians.  Of  these  the  Pres- 
byterians will  probably  be  a  virile  community, 
containing  the  best  yeoman  stock  of  the  coun- 
try, and  representing  the  bulk  of  the  agricul- 
tural interest.  The  Catholics  will  number  in 
their  fold  the  very  poor  and  those  engaged  in 
labor,  with  many  of  the  servant  class,  and  an 
occasional  unprosperous  farmer,  and  a  pros- 
perous publican;  while  the  Episcopalians  will 
be  a  rather  weak  and  nondescript  community, 
consisting  of  those  classes,  whether  tradespeople 
or  professional,  who  regard  themselves  of  social 
importance,  and  who  have  the  mental  qualifica- 
tions for  conforming  in  religious  matters  to 
their  views  of  what  is  socially  expedient. 

"And  of  the  three  camps  the  Presbyterians 
and  Episcopahans  will  certainly  have  deahngs 
with  each  other,  and  a  kind  of  friendly  rivalry, 
as  of  those  who  should  oppose  each  other  in 
the  same  cause.  But  neither  of  them  will 
have  any  deahngs  at  all  with  the  Roman  Cath- 
olics. It  will  be  enough  that  a  man  should 
be  a  Roman  Catholic  for  him  to  be  refused 
employment  in  their  affairs  if  a  Protestant  is 
available. 

"However  small  and  meager  the  social  re- 


268  SHAMROCK-LAND 

sources  of  the  place  may  be,  no  one  would 
dream  of  inviting  the  priest  to  any  social  enter- 
tainment; and,  indeed,  if  such  an  invitation 
were  given  it  would  hardly  be  understood. 
Priests,  being  in  the  minority  there,  are  far 
more  tolerant  and  kindly  in  their  views  than 
their  Protestant  brethren,  just  as  in  other  parts 
of  Ireland,  where  they  are  in  the  majority,  they 
are  apt  to  apply  the  boycott  in  their  turn  in 
just  the  same  way. 

"But  the  two  sets  of  people  might  belong  to 
different  races  and  be  of  different  colors  for  all 
that  they  will  have  to  do  with  each  other." 

As  to  the  chance  of  the  final  triumph  of  Prot- 
estantism in  Ireland,  and  the  stamping  out  of 
Catholicism,  as  England  formerly  tried  to  do, 
and  as  some  Protestants  still  hope  to  see  accom- 
pUshed,  the  writer  says: 

"You  might  stamp  out  Catholicism,  but  it 
would  be  by  stamping  out  the  Cathohcs;  you 
might  destroy  religion,  but  not  before  you  have 
destroyed  the  nation;  and  although  I  am  con- 
vinced that  Roman  Catholicism  is  in  its  essence 
anti-national,  I  am  also  convinced  that  it  is 
twisted  like  ivy  about  the  very  life  of  Ireland; 
and  though  it  will  destroy  the  tree  if  the  growth 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  269 

continues,  yet  I  am  sure  that  you  could  not 
uproot  the  one  without  fatal  damage  to  the 
other." 

It  would  appear  that  the  intensive  farming 
and  the  manufacturing  of  Ulster  act  as  a  check 
to  emigration.  The  population  of  Munster 
in  the  last  decade  decreased  8.29  per  cent., 
and  Connaught  decreased  10.08  per  cent., 
while  Ulster  decreased  only  2.28  per  cent. 
Leinster  in  the  East,  including  the  city  of  Dub- 
lin and  eight  counties,  showed  a  decrease  of 
3.36  per  cent.,  though  every  one  of  the  eight 
counties  showed  a  decrease  except  county  Dub- 
lin. With  the  exception  of  this  county,  and 
counties  Antrim  and  Down  in  Ulster,  each  of 
which  increased  at  the  rate  of  about  7  per  cent., 
all  the  other  twenty-nine  counties  of  the  island 
decreased  in  population,  ranging  from  13.60 
per  cent.,  in  the  case  of  Monaghan  to  5.10  per 
cent,  in  the  case  of  Londonderry.  Many  of 
the  towns  in  the  South  and  West,  such  as  Lim- 
erick, Galway,  and  Kilkenny,  showed  sub- 
stantial decreases,  while  DubHn  increased  at 
the  rate  of  7.60  per  cent.,  and  Londonderry 
city  at  the  rate  of  20  per  cent.;  while  Belfast,  a 
city  which,  as  I  was  informed  by  Mr.  T.  P. 


270  SHAMROCK-LAND 

O'Connor,  "will  not  have  even  a  policeman 
if  he  is  a  Catholic,"  increased  at  the  rate  of 
27.08  per  cent.,  a  rate  of  increase  greater  than 
that  show^n  by  some  of  the  most  progressive 
American  cities. 

The  province  of  Munster  in  South  and  South- 
west Ireland,  which  includes  the  counties  of 
Cork,  Waterford,  Tipperary,  Limerick,  Kerry, 
and  Clare,  had  at  the  last  census  a  population 
of  1,075,075,  having  decreased  from  2,404,460 
since  1841.  Of  the  present  population  the 
Catholics  number  1,007,283,  and  the  Protes- 
tants 67,792,  a  proportion  of  94  per  cent,  to 
6  per  cent. 

Michael  J.  F.  McCarthy,  a  native  Irish  Cath- 
olic lawyer,  in  a  recently-published  sensational 
book,  says: 

"The  priest  is  lord  of  Munster.  The  news- 
papers see  through  him,  but  they  flatter  him; 
for  in  himself  alone  he  represents  a  large  cir- 
culation and  advertisement  business.  The  pro- 
fessional men  privately  despise  him,  but  are 
forced  to  beg  for  his  influence.  The  traders 
and  farmers  partially  see  through  him,  but  he 
infuses  them  with  such  a  spirit  of  laziness  and 
cowardice,  and  so  distorts  their  minds  in  youth. 


'J-. 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  271 

that,  while  they  are  always  in  a  state  of  smoth- 
ered repudiation  of  his  pretentions,  they  pass 
through  life  without  assailing  him.  All  classes, 
but  especially  the  laborers,  fly  from  him  in 
thousands  across  the  Atlantic  and  Indian  Ocean. 
The  decrease  in  CathoHc  Munster  within  the 
last  decade  was  8.29  per  cent.,  while  in  Presby- 
terian Ulster  it  was  but  2.28  per  cent." 

The  book  from  which  the  above  paragraph 
is  taken  is  entitled  "Priests  and  People  in  Ire- 
land." Together  with  its  companion  volumes, 
"Rome  in  Ireland"  and  "Five  Years  in  Ire- 
land," I  found  it  for  sale  on  book-stalls  through- 
out the  British  Isles.  These  books  are  of  large 
size,  and  are  illustrated  with  photographs. 
Each  is  literally  crammed  with  statistics  in- 
tending to  prove  the  deteriorating  effect  of 
"Priest  Rule"  in  Ireland.  The  writer  con- 
tends that  he  is  a  native-born,  typical  southern 
Irishman  and  a  loyal  Catholic,  though  he  de- 
clares eternal  hatred  of  the  Irish  priest.  The 
priests  look  upon  him  and  speak  of  him  as 
being  a  turncoat.  McCarthy  has  lectured  in 
various  parts  of  Ireland  and  England  upon  this 
subject  so  congenial  to  him,  and  has  run  some 
serious    risks    at    times.     In    Ulster,    according 


272  SHAMROCK-LAND 

to  his  own  accounts,  he  met  with  great  audi- 
ences and  was  hailed  almost  as  a  hero. 

The  Irish  National  Schools,  North  and  South, 
have  served  within  recent  years  greatly  to 
decrease  illiteracy  in  the  island.  It  is  said, 
however,  that  the  schools  of  Ulster  surpass 
those  of  the  South  and  West.  The  census  of 
1 901  reveals  the  fact  that  the  percentage  of 
illiteracy  among  the  Roman  Catholics  was  16.00 
per  cent.;  among  the  Episcopalians,  7.30  per 
cent.;  and  among  the  Presbyterians,  4.90  per 
cent.  This  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
Presbyterians  of  the  North  are  more  careful  to 
have  their  children  to  learn  to  read  and  write. 
In  considering  this  matter,  however,  one  must 
consider  the  vast  numbers  of  older  people  of  the 
South  and  West,  all  genuine  Irish  and  CathoHcs, 
who  never  had  the  opportunity  to  attend  school. 

All  recent  writers  upon  Ireland  have  been 
more  or  less  free  in  the  matter  of  contrasting 
the  North  and  the  South,  or,  perhaps  more 
correctly,  in  contrasting  the  Protestant  and 
Catholic  elements  of  the  country.  Mr.  Stephen 
Gwynn,  in  his  book  ** To-day  and  To-morrow 
in  Ireland,'*  has  some  particularly  fine  para- 
graphs bearing  upon  the  subject: 


THE  TWO   IRELANDS  273 

"It  would  be  hard  to  exaggerate  the  separate- 
ness,  the  cleavage,  that  runs  through  the  whole 
country.  .  .  .  Broadly  speaking,  at  the  Prot- 
estant houses  you  do  not  meet  Catholics.  They 
are  kept  apart  by  instinctive  antipathies  — 
instincts  maintained,  no  doubt,  by  the  dehb- 
erate  pohcy  of  the  Catholic  church.  ...  It 
would  be  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  the  Cath- 
olics in  Ireland  form  among  themselves  —  with- 
out intention  and  even  without  knowledge  — 
a  huge  secret  society,  like  all  secret  societies, 
amenable  to  a  social  code. 

*'The  historic  genesis  of  this  attitude  is  not 
hard  to  find.  Throughout  Ireland,  on  the 
whole,  Protestants  are  the  possessors.  Cath- 
olics the  dispossessed.  They  are  dispossessed 
not  less  for  their  religion  than  for  their  race; 
and  their  religion  is  to-day  in  many  cases,  per- 
haps in  most,  the  only  mark  of  their  separate 
origin.  It  has  been  the  lasting  bond,  indeed 
the  one  and  only  positive  link  of  union  among 
them  —  for  hate  is  only  a  negative  tie.  Perse- 
cution and  penahzation  were  directed  against 
the  religion,  and  in  their  clinging  to  what  was 
attacked,  they  fell  away  hopelessly  from  the 
attacking    force  —  which    was    the    law.     And 


274  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  secret  law  which  grew  up  among  them  was 
so  indissolubly  bound  up  with  their  religion,  that 
the  religion  could  not,  if  it  would,  shake  it  off. 

"Catholicism  is  a  strong  religion,  perhaps 
the  strongest  in  the  world,  but  to  no  people  in 
the  world  does  it  represent  so  much  as  to  the 
Irish.  It  is  the  one  thing  they  retained.  They 
lost  their  land,  they  lost  their  language,  and 
with  it  their  traditional  culture,  but  they  kept 
their  religion;  and  when  their  religion  ceased 
to  be  attacked  they  kept  the  habits  and  the 
instinctive  organization  that  they  acquired  in 
defending  it.  The  Irish  peasant  who  passes 
for  an  expansive,  confiding  creature,  is  in  real- 
ity the  most  reserved  of  human  beings.  .  .  . 

''Taking  it  all  round,  throughout  Ireland 
wherever  Catholics  are  in  the  majority  the  upper 
classes  are  Protestants,  separated  from  the 
lower  class  not  so  much  by  any  great  difference 
in  the  possession  of  money  (since  the  successful 
shopkeeper  is  apt  to  be  better  off  than  the  aver- 
age landlord)  nor  in  education,  as  by  a  radi- 
cal divergence  in  social  code  and  religious 
creed.  .  .  . 

**  Where  Protestant  and  Catholic  see  most  of 
each   other   in    Ireland   is   over   sport;  and    in 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  275 

these  cases,  the  Protestant  shoots,  the  CathoHc 
carries  the  bag;  the  Protestant  hooks  the  salmon 
(if  he  can),  the  Catholic  gaffs  it.  I  should  be 
the  last  to  deny  that  real  friendship  grows  up 
out  of  this  relation;  but  the  mere  fact  that 
people  meet  exclusively  as  employer  and  em- 
ployed, or  patron  and  client,  stamps  a  special 
character  on  the  intercourse.  It  is  not  the 
same  thing  as  playing  together  on  a  side;  rather 
the  relation,  in  establishing  itself,  marks  the 
essential   separateness." 

Sir  Horace  Plunkett,  from  whose  book,  "Ire- 
land in  the  New  Century,"  I  have  already  quoted, 
says,  in  contrasting  the  two  great  sections  of 
Ireland: 

"Protestantism  has  its  stronghold  in  the 
great  industrial  centers  of  the  North  and  among 
the  Presbyterian  farmers  of  five  or  six  Ulster 
counties.  These  communities,  it  is  significant 
to  note,  have  developed  the  essentially  strenu- 
ous qualities  which,  no  doubt,  they  brought 
from  England  and  Scotland.  In  city  life  their 
thrift,  industry  and  enterprise,  unsurpassed  in 
the  United  Kingdom,  have  built  up  a  world- 
wide commerce.  In  rural  life  they  have  drawn 
the   largest  yield   from  relatively  infertile   soil. 


276  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Such,  in  brief,  is  the  achievement  of  Ulster 
Protestantism  in  the  realm  of  industry.  It  is 
a  story  which,  when  a  united  Ireland  becomes 
more  than  a  dream,  all  Irishmen  will  be  proud. 
"But  there  is  unhappily  another  side  to  the 
picture.  This  industrial  hfe,  otherwise  so  worth- 
ily cultivated,  is  disturbed  by  manifestations 
of  religious  bigotry  which  sadly  tarnish  the 
glory  of  the  really  heroic  deeds  they  are  in- 
tended to  commemorate.  It  is  impossible  for 
any  close  observer  of  these  deplorable  exhibi- 
tions to  avoid  the  conclusion  that  the  embers 
of  the  old  fires  are  too  often  fanned  by  men 
who  are  actuated  by  motives,  which,  when  not 
other  than  religious,  are  certainly  based  upon 
an  unworthy  conception  of  religion.  .  .  .  This 
bigotry  is  so  notorious,  as  for  instance  in  the 
exclusion  of  Roman  Catholics  from  many  re- 
sponsible positions,  that  it  unquestionably  reacts 
most  unfavorably  upon  the  general  rela- 
tions between  the  two  creeds  throughout  the 
whole  of  Ireland.  The  existence  of  such  a 
spirit  of  suspicion  and  hatred,  from  whatever 
motive  it  emanates,  is  bound  to  retard  our  pro- 
gress as  a  people  towards  the  development  of 
a  healthy  and  balanced  national  hfe.  .  .  . 


THE  TWO  IRELANDS  277 

"From  such  study  as  I  have  been  able  to 
give  to  the  history  of  their  church,  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  immense  power  of 
the  Irish  Roman  Catholic  clergy  has  been 
singularly  little  abused.  I  think  it  must  be 
admitted  that  they  have  not  exhibited  in  any 
marked  degree  bigotry  towards  Protestants. 
.  .  .  My  own  experience  distinctly  proves  that 
it  is  no  disadvantage  to  a  man  to  be  a  Protes- 
tant in  Irish  political  hfe,  and  that  where  opposi- 
tion is  shown  to  him  by  Roman  Catholics,  it  is 
almost  invariably  on  political,  social,  or  agra- 
rian, but  not  on  religious  grounds." 

Further  contrasting  the  North  with  the  South, 
he  writes:  **I  have  learned  from  practical  ex- 
perience amongst  the  Roman  CathoHc  people 
of  Ireland  that  while  more  free  from  bigotry, 
in  the  sense  in  which  that  word  is  usually  ap- 
plied, they  are  apathetic,  thriftless,  and  almost 
non-industrial,  and  that  they  especially  require 
the  exercise  of  strengthening  influences  on  their 
moral  fiber.  .  .  .  North  and  South  have  each 
virtues  which  the  other  lacks;  each  has  much  to 
learn  from  the  other;  but  the  home  of  the 
strictly  civic  virtues  and  efficiencies  is  in  Prot- 
estant Ireland." 


27B  SHAMROCK-LAND 

In  describing  the  intelligence  and  love  of 
knowledge  which  the  people  of  Ulster  display, 
Sir  Horace  agrees  entirely  with  Michael  Mc- 
Carthy in  his  conclusions  upon  the  same  sub- 
ject. In  "Rome  in  Ireland"  the  latter  writes 
as  follows: 

*'I  have  never  yet  gone  into  a  Presbyterian 
house  in  which  I  did  not  find  one  or  more  well- 
filled  bookcases  occupying  a  place  of  honor; 
and  the  acquaintance  with  every  phase  of 
current  thought  to  be  found  amongst  the  Pres- 
byterians is  no  less  characteristic  of  them  than 
their  love  of  travel  and  the  extent  of  their  topo- 
graphical knowledge.  Let  others  depict  the 
shortcomings  of  the  Presbyterians  if  they  will 
—  and  the  carping  critics  are  far  from  few  in 
number  —  I  shall  not  be  deterred  from  calling 
attention  to  their  good  points,  or  from  record- 
ing my  own  experience  of  them  for  that  section 
of  humanity  who  condescend  to  read  what  I 
write." 

I  carried  with  me  to  Ireland  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  prominent  people  in  Newry,  Belfast, 
and  Ballymoney  in  North  Ireland.  I  found 
these  people  courteous,  kind  and  attentive,  and 
happy  to  make  my  acquaintance.     I  was  im- 


THE   TWO    IRELANDS  279 

pressed  wherever  I  went  in  the  North  with  the 
comfortable  dwellings,  the  extreme  cleanliness 
of  everything  about  the  premises  of  the  homes, 
the  attempt  at  making  and  keeping  the  home 
attractive,  and,  above  all,  with  the  great  habit 
of  industry  which  seems  to  pervade  the  very 
atmosphere. 

In  the  market  town  of  Ballymoney,  in  Antrim, 
where  resided  some  distant  kinsmen  of  a  dis- 
tinguished Virginia  author  and  scholar,  who 
had  given  me  personal  letters  of  introduction 
to  them,  I  found  a  congenial  company  of  people 
who  reminded  me  of  cultured  Bostonians  or 
Richmonders.  In  this  small  town  of  three 
thousand  people,  situated  in  the  midst  of  a 
fine  farming  country,  with  its  big  barns  remind- 
ing one  of  the  Shenandoah  and  Cumberland 
Valleys,  there  were  three  Presbyterian  churches, 
all  with  different  pastors  and  active  organiza- 
tions. There  were  practically  no  poor  people 
in  or  around  the  town,  and  all  whom  I  met 
appeared  healthy  and  happy.  The  Roman 
Catholics  had  a  small  chapel  in  the  town  where 
the  few  inhabitants  of  that  faith  worshiped. 

Along  the  side-tracks  upon  the  railroad  I 
saw  several  car-loads  of  mowing  and  reaping 


28o  SHAMROCK-LAND 

machinery;  and  I  had  the  curiosity  to  go  and 
learn  that  these  up-to-date  farming  implements 
were  products  of  American  factories.  Thus 
Ulster  Ireland  is  linked  closely  with  a  similarly 
progressive  land  across  the  sea. 

I  visited  a  number  of  other  towns  in  the  North, 
and  was  much  pleased  with  the  general  appear- 
ance of  prosperity  and  thrift  throughout  that 
section.  I  was  particularly  interested,  how- 
ever, in  the  people  of  the  North,  the  Scotch- 
Irish,  that  sturdy  and  indomitable  stock  which 
our  American  school  histories  teach  us,  went 
forth  to  provide  the  brawn  and  brain  which 
opened  up  the  forests  of  America,  fought  back 
the  savage  tribes,  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
nation,  and  at  length  wrested  freedom  from 
England*s  grasp. 

While  traveling  through  Antrim  and  Down 
I  felt  sometimes  that  I  was  treading  upon  hal- 
lowed ground.  I  was  within  two  miles  of  the 
low-lying  stone  cottage,  with  roof  of  thatch  and 
floor  of  stone,  which  sheltered  many  generations 
of  the  ancestors  of  President  McKinley;  and  I 
traveled  over  long  stretches  of  clover-scented 
meadow  and  densely-green  hillside,  every  mile 
of  which   contained   some   sturdily-built   home 


THE   TWO   IRELANDS  281 

within  whose  rough  stone  walls  had  lived  the 
ancestry  of  such  makers  of  America  as  Andrew 
Jackson,  James  Buchanan,  John  C.  Calhoun, 
Ulysses  Grant,  Stonewall  Jackson,  and  multi- 
tudes of  other  statesmen,  soldiers,  lawyers, 
preachers  and  citizens  who  will  be  known  to 
history  as  among  the  greatest  men  who  ever 
lived  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XI 

RURAL    IRELAND   AS    IT    IS    TO-DAY 

It  is  largely  as  a  result  of  the  unprecedented 
loss  of  half  its  population  in  half  a  century 
that  the  present  condition  of  rural  Ireland  is 
so  interesting  and  so  remarkable  a  study.  The 
depopulation  of  Ireland  has  largely  changed 
the  life  of  the  people  and  brought  about  vast 
differences  in  the  face  of  the  country.  The 
Ireland  of  to-day  is  by  no  means  the  Ireland 
of  sixty  years  ago. 

Owing  to  lack  of  labor,  the  former  intensive 
cultivation  of  the  soil  has  to  a  large  extent  ceased. 
Tillage  has  been  superseded  by  pasturage. 
Thousands  of  acres  that  in  former  years  were 
teeming  with  laborers  planting  and  working 
potatoes  and  turnips,  and  harvesting  wheat 
and  oats,  are  now  turned  out  in  grass;  and 
the  song  of  the  laborers  and  the  music  of  the 
whetting  of  scythes  have  been  hushed,  and  in 
their  place  can  be  heard  the  tinkling  of  sheep- 
bells  and  the  lowing  of  cattle. 

282 


^t^    i 


£ 
X 


e» 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     283 

In  all  parts  of  the  middle,  south,  and  west 
of  Ireland  one  may  see  evidences  of  this  re- 
markable change,  —  more  remarkable  since  the 
signs  of  former  possession  and  cultivation  are 
still  evident.  For  sixty  years  the  young  and 
vigorous  farm-hands  have  been  dropping  the 
hoe  and  spade  and  emigrating  to  America, 
leaving  behind  them  to  attempt  their  work 
their  infirm  old  parents  and  their  little  brothers 
and  sisters.  The  children  dream  through  their 
boyhood  and  girlhood  of  the  time  when  they 
in  turn  can  go  down  to  Queenstown  and  sail 
on  the  big  ship  for  New  York  or  Boston.  Whole 
villages  have  thus  been  robbed  of  their  young 
people,  and  vast  country  sections  that  once 
teemed  with  vigorous  farm  laborers  now  con- 
tain but  a  handful  of  men  who  are  capable  of 
hard  labor.  Indeed,  one  of  the  most  striking, 
and  at  the  same  time  most  mournful,  sights  in 
rural  Ireland  to-day  is  the  unusually  large  num- 
ber of  despondent-looking  old  men  and  women 
who  mope  absent-mindedly  about  the  road- 
ways of  the  country-sides  or  the  alleys  of  the 
hundreds  of  semi-deserted  villages.  Their  sons 
and  daughters  have  grown  up  and  gone  to  seek 
their  fortunes  in  the  West.     Not  one  in  a  bun- 


284  SHAMROCK-LAND 

dred  of  them  will  ever  return  to  hoe  and  spade 
the  rocky  old  Irish  fields  again. 

A  brief  study  of  the  rise  of  Ireland's  popula- 
tion and  its  subsequent  decline,  even  though 
some  statistics  may  be  involved,  is  by  no  means 
unprofitable  or  uninteresting.  Indeed,  Ireland's 
history  in  this  respect  reads  almost  like  a  ro- 
mance. 

Let  it  be  understood,  then,  that  Ireland  is  an 
island  off  the  northwestern  shores  of  Europe, 
situated  so  far  to  the  north  that  if  it  were  in 
the  Western  hemisphere  it  would  be  bound  per- 
petually in  snow  and  ice;  but  since  it  is  in  the 
path  of  the  Gulf  Stream  and  certain  warm 
winds,  its  climate  is  mild,  its  summers  are 
humid  and  cool,  its  winters  damp  and  com- 
paratively warm.  The  dank  moisture  of  the 
island  prevents  a  great  amount  of  freezing,  and 
the  grass  remains  green  the  year  round. 

The  area  of  Ireland  is  32,583  square  miles. 
This  is  slightly  less  than  the  area  of  Indiana, 
about  two-thirds  that  of  New  York  State,  or  a 
little  over  half  that  of  England. 

We  have  no  way  of  knowing  the  number  of 
Ireland's  inhabitants  in  early  days.  Perhaps 
before  the  sixteenth  century  it  would  have  been 


a 


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1 

c 

o 

OJ 

a 

D_ 

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> 

-o 

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o 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     285 

impossible  to  take  even  a  comparative  census, 
so  crude  were  the  methods  then  employed,  and 
so  difficult  must  it  have  been  to  obtain  accurate 
information  from  the  people  themselves.  But 
in  1593,  near  the  close  of  Elizabeth's  reign, 
Moryson  visited  Ireland  with  Lord  Mountjoy 
and  estimated  just  at  the  close  of  the  Civil  War 
that  there  were  700,000  people  in  the  island. 
In  1672  Sir  William  Petty  estimated,  on  the 
basis  of  five  persons  to  each  house,  that  the 
population  was  1,100,000.  By  1785,  according 
to  Hearth-Money  Collectors,  the  number  of 
inhabitants  was  2,845,932.  It  was  during  the 
century  between  1750  and  1850  that  Ireland's 
population  increased  by  leaps  and  bounds;  for 
the  first  complete  parhamentary  census,  which 
was  taken  in  1821,  revealed  the  fact  that  Ire- 
land had  6,801,827  inhabitants.  By  1845  this 
large  population  had  increased  to  8,295,061. 
At  this  time  the  population  to  the  square  mile 
was  254,  while  that  of  Scotland  was  only  97, 
and  England  but  280.  Then  Ireland  held  one- 
third  of  the  population  of  the  British  Isles. 
Her  hills  fairly  swarmed  with  people,  all  of 
whom,  in  a  manner  which  can  hardly  be  under- 
stood, eked   out  a   living  altogether   from   the 


286  SHAMROCK-LAND 

soil,  since  there  was  no  manufacturing  in  the 
island  and  comparatively  no  commerce. 

It  was  at  this  period  of  Ireland's  intense 
activity  in  getting  a  living  for  its  teeming  pop- 
ulation that  every  foot  of  land  which  could  be 
worked  was  put  into  a  state  of  cultivation. 
The  bogs  were  drained,  the  woods  were  all 
cut  down,  and  the  mountain-sides  were  lev- 
eled. The  Hmestone  rocks  that  jutted  up  out 
of  the  ground  were  dug  up  and  crushed  for  the 
roads  or  made  into  fences  which  still  remain. 
The  soil  was  worked  with  the  spade  and  fondled 
until  it  was  of  the  consistency  of  ashes,  and 
produced  abundantly. 

It  was  just  at  the  time  when  every  foot  of 
ground  was  required  to  bring  forth  to  its  ut- 
most to  fill  the  hungry  mouths  of  the  teeming 
thousands  that  the  potato  crop  failed.  In 
1846  and  1847  the  famine  killed  thousands  of 
Irish  people.  It  was  then  that  the  rush  was 
made  for  America.  Each  census  since  1841 
has  shown  a  decrease  in  population,  until  that 
of  1 901  reveals  that  there  are  but  4,458,775 
people  in  Ireland,  or,  adding  the  decrease  since 
that  time,  about  half  the  population  of  1845. 

Still,  one  must  not  think  of  Ireland  as  being 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     287 

a  deserted  country.  Its  population  per  square 
mile  is  even  now  137,  or  a  much  greater  den- 
sity than  exists  in  such  progressive  states  as  Ohio 
and  Illinois,  or,  leaving  out  Philadelphia  and 
New  York  City,  of  the  states  of  Pennsylvania 
and  New  York.  Nor  must  one  under  any  cir- 
cumstances imagine  that  Ireland  is  a  worn-out 
country,  with  ragged  or  uneven  appearance. 
There  could  not  be  a  greater  mistake  than  this. 
To  the  traveler  the  soil  of  the  greater  part  of 
Ireland  appears  to  be  inexhaustibly  rich,  with 
a  covering  everywhere  of  dense  and  luxuriant 
green;  while  its  fine  limestone  roads,  its  pic- 
turesque stone  fences,  its  wonderful  mountains, 
its  gray  lakes,  its  placid  rivers,  and  its  undula- 
ting fields,  with  their  carpets  of  green  plush, 
make  it  one  of  the  most  entrancingly  beautiful 
countries  upon  earth.  The  depopulation  of 
the  country  has  but  served  to  increase  its  beauty; 
for  all  the  old  landmarks  remain  —  castle, 
tower,  bridge  and  cross  —  and  the  little  farms 
that  were  formerly  diligently  worked  with  the 
spade  are  now  covered  over  with  a  sward  of 
green. 

Still,  a  traveler  in  Ireland  cannot  help  being 
depressed  with  the  apparent  stagnation   which 


288  SHAMROCK-LAND 

exists  on  every  hand.  And  it  is  not  hard  to 
account  for  these  conditions.  For  whatever 
other  obscure  evils  may  be  at  the  root  of 
that  evil,  the  emigration  craze  alone  has 
been  sufficient  to  demoralize  every  indus- 
try and  occupation  of  Ireland.  No  country 
can  stand  the  loss  of  the  vigorous  and  active 
half  of  its  people  without  suffering  dreadfully 
from  it.  Stagnation  in  business  and  all  kinds 
of  industries  that  require  labor  is  the  first  and 
most  evident  result  of  such  a  condition.  In 
Ireland  to-day  we  have  a  case  of  the  survival 
of  the  unfittest. 

One  must  remember,  in  studying  this  matter, 
that  the  northern  portion  of  Ulster  can  in  no 
way  said  to  be  stagnant.  It  is  this  Ulster  sec- 
tion of  Ireland,  progressive  as  the  best  portions 
of  England  and  Scotland,  which  makes  all  the 
agricultural  and  commercial  statistics  of  Ire- 
land, bad  at  the  best,  appear  as  well  as  they  do. 

It  is  in  large  portions  of  Leinster,  in  Mun- 
ster  and  in  Connaught  that  the  real  "Irish 
question"  is  centered.  In  these  portions  of 
real  and  typical  Ireland  the  conditions  are 
most  interesting,  even  if  in  some  respects  they 
are  unpleasant  to  dwell  upon.     Even  in  such 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     289 

wonderfully  beautiful  and  apparently  prosper- 
ous sections  as  County  Cork  and  the  "Golden 
Vale  of  Tipperary"  the  conditions  are  yearly 
growing  more  acute.  It  seems  but  nothing 
that  the  soil  is  rich  and  the  outward  conditions 
favorable.  The  immense  loss  of  population 
and  the  consequent  stagnation  in  business  and 
agriculture  has  depressed  the  Hfe  of  the  coun- 
try, and  disheartened  those  who  are  left  in 
possession  of  the  soil. 

The  census  of  1901  gives  some  interesting 
statistics  as  to  the  occupations  of  the  Irish 
people.  Of  the  4,458,775,  given  as  the  total 
population,  131,035  were  classed  as  ** profes- 
sional"; 255,144  as  "domestic";  83,173  as 
"commercial";  936,759  as  "agricultural"; 
656,410  as  "industrial";  and  2,494,958  as 
"non-productive  and  indefinite."  The  inclu- 
sion of  considerably  more  than  one-half  of  the 
total  population  of  the  country  in  the  class  of 
non-productives  tells  in  no  uncertain  way  the 
real  story  of  rural  Ireland.  It  is  this  aimless- 
ness  in  affairs  which  has  within  recent  years 
been  furnishing  material  for  so  much  discus- 
sion and  agitation  for  reform  on  the  part  of 
the  publicists  and  government  experts. 


290  SHAMROCK-LAND 

The  counties  of  Kerry,  in  the  southwest; 
Galway,  on  the  middle  western  coast;  Mayo, 
the  next  county  to  the  north  of  Galway;  Sligo, 
and  Roscommon,  in  the  northwest,  and  some 
of  the  counties  in  the  north  central  portion  of 
the  island  are  among  those  which  present  rather 
remarkable  agricultural  conditions  at  this  time. 
In  most  of  the  counties  named  the  population 
is  still  considerable,  and  in  some  cases  con- 
gested. The  soil  is  in  many  places  rocky,  and 
along  the  mountain-sides  is  so  rough  that  the 
use  of  elaborate  farm  machinery,  if  ever  dreamed 
of  by  the  inhabitants,  would  be  quite  impos- 
sible. There  are  no  cities  and  few  towns  of 
size  in  these  sections,  and  there  are  no  mills 
or  factories  of  any  description.  The  commerce 
is  inconsiderable,  though  harbors  are  numerous 
along  the  coast;  and  railroad  traffic,  as  might 
be  expected,  is  small.  The  Hving  that  the 
people  get  must  come  from  the  ground. 

Throughout  the  counties  named,  as  well  as 
in  most  of  South  and  West  Ireland,  there  are, 
as  stated  in  a  previous  chapter,  but  two  classes, 
—  the  gentry,  who  own  large  portions  of  the 
land,  and  the  peasantry.  The  former  are  sel- 
dom seen,  because  even  in  this  day  many  of 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     291 

them  are  non-residents,  while  the  latter  are 
ubiquitous.  The  masses  of  the  people  live 
generally  in  one-story  stone  or  mud  houses, 
scattered  over  the  long  mountain-sides,  or  clus- 
tered in  the  little  one-street  villages  pecuHar 
to  Ireland.  Around  these  houses  one  generally 
finds  a  small  garden  patch,  in  which  are  raised 
potatoes  and  other  hardy  vegetables.  In  front 
of  the  doors  are  small  inclosures,  or  yards, 
walled  in  with  stones,  sometimes  so  loosely 
poised  upon  each  other  that  one  may  through 
the  interstices  see  into  the  sheep-walks  beyond 
their  bounds.  Here,  around  the  doorway,  the 
family  goat  browses;  and  here  the  pigs,  the 
geese,  and  the  chickens  are  wont  to  gather, 
indefatigably  seeking  and  as  freely  obtaining 
uninterrupted  entrance  into  the  living-room  of 
the  dwelling. 

The  interiors  of  the  houses  are  too  often 
comfortless  and  bare.  It  is  seldom  that  more 
than  one  room  out  of  a  possible  two  or  three 
has  a  wooden  floor.  The  others  are  paved  with 
roughly-fitting  flat  stones,  and  are  generally 
cold  and  damp.  In  the  rural  districts  there 
are  no  stoves  or  ranges,  so  cooking  is  done  over 
the  open  fire  in  large  fireplaces.     Peat  is  uni- 


292  SHAMROCK-LAND 

formly  used  for  fuel  except  near  the  coasts 
where  coal  is  sometimes  imported  from  Wales. 
In  the  interior  the  use  of  coal  and  wood  for 
fuel  is  unknown. 

There  are  no  verandas  or  porches  to  the 
Irish  rural  or  village  dwellings;  the  windows 
are  small  square  holes  made  in  the  thick  walls, 
and  stopped  with  from  four  to  eight  panes  of 
glass.  Ventilation  is  unprovided  for.  Fre- 
quently a  pigsty  or  a  stable  for  the  cow  is  in- 
closed under  the  same  roof  of  thatch,  which  is 
a  coating  of  sedge  or  straw  from  six  inches  to 
a  foot  in  thickness  fastened  down  with  ropes. 

Such  dwellings  as  described  above  exist  all 
over  Ireland.  It  is  rather  remarkable  how 
little  variation  there  is  from  the  type.  They  are 
termed  ''third  class"  by  the  government.  The 
last  census  shows  that  there  are  251,606  of  such 
in  Ireland.  The  dwellings  called  "fourth  class" 
are  the  lowliest  kinds  of  huts,  with  dirt  floors 
and  one  room  with  one  window.  There  are 
to-day  in  remote  rural  sections  of  Ireland  9,873 
such  huts,  inhabited  by  probably  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  people. 

The  ** second  class"  houses  are  of  a  some- 
what better  type,  especially  when  found  in  such 


< 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     293 

cities  as  Limerick,  Cork,  Dublin  and  Belfast. 
In  the  better  agricultural  districts,  as  in  Antrim 
and  Down,  Tipperary,  Wicklow,  and  Kil- 
kenny, they  may  also  be  found.  Many  of  the 
second  class  houses  are  covered  with  slate, 
though  in  the  interior  thatch  is  used.  There 
are  521,000  second  class  houses  in  all  Ireland. 
The  houses  of  the  "first  class"  are  the  "castles" 
of  the  gentry  and  landlords  scattered  through 
the  country  and  the  houses  of  the  prosperous 
business  and  professional  men  of  the  cities. 
There  are  75,000  of  these  in  the  island. 

The  landlord  question  is  still  the  one  all- 
absorbing  topic  in  Irish  affairs,  as  it  has  been 
for  the  past  three  centuries.  From  the  time  of 
Cromwell,  and  before,  the  Irish  have  chafed 
under  landlord  rule.  For  many  years  the  ten- 
ure system  was  unregulated  by  the  government, 
and  the  landlord  had  the  entire  disposition  of 
his  estate.  As  might  be  expected  from  such  a 
state  of  affairs,  there  was  constant  friction  and 
no  little  bitterness  between  the  landlord  and 
his  tenants.  The  Irish  peasantry  for  genera- 
tions contended  that  it  was  not  to  their  advan- 
tage to  improve  lands  upon  which,  as  a  result 
of  the   improvement,   heavier   rents   would   be 


294  SHAMROCK-LAND 

exacted.     Thus  the  habit  of  unthrift  and  un- 
tidiness was  fastened  upon  the  people. 

The  government,  in  1868,  through  the  first 
Gladstone  land  act,  recognized  the  right  of 
the  Irish  tenant  to  compensation  for  improve- 
ment effected  by  him  in  the  soil  which  he  had 
cultivated,  should  he  be  deprived  of  his  holding 
or  should  his  rent  be  changed.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  legislation,  which,  through  suc- 
cessive acts  of  Parliament  in  1870,  1871,  and 
1876,  enlarged  and  modified  by  more  recent 
enactments,  resulted  in  the  passage  of  a  meas- 
ure, in  1903,  that  promised  for  a  time  to  settle 
effectively  the  landlord  question  for  the  coun- 
try. This  great  act  provided  for  the  purchase 
of  lands  from  the  landlords  by  the  small  farmers 
and  peasants,  the  government  advancing  the 
necessary  cash  to  the  purchasers  at  a  nominal 
rate  of  interest.  Every  student  of  Irish  affairs 
has  for  the  past  five  years  been  watching  with 
the  closest  interest  the  operations  of  this  gigan- 
tic piece  of  legislation.  For  two  or  three  years 
after  the  act  went  into  force  the  fullest  advan- 
tage was  taken  of  its  provisions  by  the  rural 
Irish,  and  the  large  sums  set  apart  by  the  gov- 
ernment to  be  applied  in  loans  to  purchasers 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     295 

were  taken  up  greedily  in  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try. Many  of  the  priests  of  the  South  and 
West,  quick  to  recognize  the  advantages  of  the 
offer,  bought  land  upon  the  usual  terms. 

So  loud  were  the  demands  for  additional 
appropriations  to  be  apphed  in  these  land  loans 
that  three  years  after  the  original  land  act  an 
additional  $50,000,000  was  set  apart  by  the 
government  to  facilitate  the  operations  of  the 
act  and  to  remedy  the  stoppage  of  sales  of  land 
through  lack  of  funds. 

In  seUing  the  land  to  their  tenants  for  the 
cash  advanced  for  them  by  the  government, 
the  landlords  have  generally  demanded  as  a 
price  that  amount  which  the  land  would  pro- 
duce in  rent  in  twenty-two  and  a  half  years. 
Some  have  demanded  more,  some  less,  than 
this.  The  average  purchase  of  the  tenant  is 
his  dwelling,  sometimes  an  outbuilding,  and 
from  six  to  twenty  acres  of  land.  The  price 
paid,  based  on  the  rent  value,  varies  from  $20 
to  $60  an  acre. 

An  actual  case  of  purchase  is  as  follows:  A 
small  farmer  lived  upon  a  tract  of  i6|  acres  of 
land  in  a  good  agricultural  section.  For  some 
years  past  he  had  been  paying  to  the  landlord 


296  SHAMROCK-LAND 

an  annual  rent  of  £6  12s.,  or  about  $7^-^.  He 
wished  to  purchase  the  land,  and  it  was  offered 
to  him  by  the  landlord  for  £iSo,  or  about  $1^^. 
He  made  the  necessary  application  to  the 
authorities,  borrowed  the  money  from  the  gov- 
ernment, and  paid  the  landlord  for  the  place, 
gaining  from  him  a  deed  in  fee  simple.  The 
government  retained  what  might  be  termed  a 
first  mortgage  upon  the  place,  which  is  to  be 
released  at  the  expiration  of  forty  years,  and 
after  forty  yearly  payments  of  £^^  4s.,  or  about 
$21.  In  forty  years  from  1904  the  purchaser 
will  have  paid  to  the  government  about  ^840 
for  his  farm.  He  began  also  to  pay  taxes  upon 
the  place  as  soon  as  it  was  Hsted  in  his  name. 
His  first  year's  taxes  amounted  to  26s.,  or  about 
^6.50.  This  amount  may  be  increased  or 
diminished  according  to  the  valuation  put  upon 
the  property  and  the  rate  of  taxation  adopted 
from  year  to  year. 

During  1907  and  the  early  part  of  1908  there 
was  much  friction  in  the  congested  districts  of 
western  Ireland,  and  even  in  better  parts  of 
the  island,  caused  by  the  fact  that  landlords 
refused  to  sell  their  best  lands  to  bidders,  but 
offered  only  their  very  stony  mountain   lands 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     297 

or  unproductive  boglands,  retaining  their  best 
lands  for  pasturing  large  herds  of  cattle.  The 
peasantry,  becoming  disgruntled  on  account 
of  such  conditions,  often  in  the  dead  of  night 
would  drive  the  cattle  from  the  lands  of  the 
landlords,  thus  running  serious  risks  of  arrest 
at  the  hands  of  the  constabulary.  Taking  all 
things  into  consideration,  there  has  been  re- 
markably little  trouble  as  a  result  of  the 
operation  of  this  land  act  which  is  altogether 
revolutionary  in  its  processes;  and  it  is  almost 
certain  that  in  time  it  will  serve  to  bring  about  a 
complete  solution  of  the  land  problem  in  Ireland. 
As  the  rents  for  the  past  fifty  years  have  to  a 
large  extent  been  paid  by  American  citizens, 
so  the  farmer  or  tenant  who  buys  land  generally 
does  so  with  a  view  of  paying  for  it  in  yearly 
instalments  sent  to  him  by  children  or  relatives 
who  have  emigrated  to  the  United  States.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  estimate  the  amount  of 
money  which  is  sent  to  Ireland  every  year  from 
this  country.  Private  inquiry  sometimes  brings 
to  light  the  fact  that  almost  every  cent  of  the 
rent  and  taxes  paid  by  certain  villages  and 
sections  of  counties  was  provided  by  American 
Irish. 


298  SHAMROCK-LAND 

The  above  statement  will  not  appear  so 
strange  if  one  remembers  that  there  are  595,210 
people  of  Irish  parentage  in  New  York  City 
alone,  which  means  a  population  greater  than 
the  combined  Irish  populations  of  Belfast  and 
Dublin,  the  two  largest  cities  of  Ireland.  There 
are  in  Boston  160,000  full-blooded  Irish  people; 
185,000  in  Chicago;  and  225,000  in  Phila- 
delphia, not  to  mention  the  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands scattered  through  other  sections  of  the 
country.  These  American  Irish  are  as  a  rule 
industrious  and  steady,  and  they  command 
good  wages.  One  may  very  readily  see  how 
it  is  that  Ireland  to-day  is  supported  so  largely 
by  American  money. 

Indeed,  it  is  necessary  for  the  native  Irish 
to  receive  help  from  somewhere,  otherwise 
about  half  the  population  could  not  be  kept 
from  starvation.  The  Earl  of  Dunraven,  pres- 
ident of  the  Irish  Reform  Association,  in  a 
pamphlet  which  was  strewn  broadcast  through 
the  British  Isles,  declares  that  out  of  the  500,- 
000  holdings  in  rural  Ireland,  fully  200,000 
might  be  classed  as  uneconomic,  or  inca- 
pable per  se  of  maintaining  a  family.  Unless 
the    purchaser   has   some   other  means  of  sup- 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     299 

port  besides  the  proceeds  of  the  land,  he  will 
not  be  able  to  pay  for  his  property  or  live 
except  in  the  most  abject  poverty.  Starva- 
tion, then,  in  the  case  of  purchasers  of  such 
property  is  kept  off  by  money  which  is  sent 
from  America. 

Of  the  300,000  economic  holdings,  the  vast 
majority  are  self-sustaining,  not  from  tillage, 
but  from  dairying  and  stock-raising.  Dairy- 
ing has  within  the  past  nine  years  received  an 
impetus  through  the  efforts  at  cooperation  made 
by  the  Board  of  Agriculture  and  Technical 
Instruction,  which  was  created  in  1899.  This 
board  has  provided  instruction  for  the  people 
in  dairying  in  many  schools,  and  has  established 
creameries  throughout  Ireland,  with  expensive 
machinery  for  stripping  butter  from  milk  fresh 
from  the  cow.  To  these  pubHc  creameries 
dairymen  haul  their  milk  and  receive  credit 
for  each  gallon  brought  according  to  its  butter- 
producing  value.  Tests  are  applied  to  every 
can  of  milk  received.  The  establishment  of 
these  creameries,  insuring  cleanhness  and  a 
regular  supply  of  butter,  has  succeeded  in  open- 
ing up  a  fresh  market  for  Irish  butter  in  the 
great  manufacturing  centers  of  England  where 


300  SHAMROCK-LAND 

enormous  quantities  of  butter  are  required; 
and  has  stimulated  dairying  in  almost  every 
part  of  the  island.  The  cooperative  plan  may 
be  said  to  be  even  yet  in  its  infancy,  and  it  must 
prove  what  it  will  accomplish  if  universally 
patronized. 

Stock-breeding  among  the  small  farmers  is 
increasing  with  the  decline  of  tillage.  Most 
writers  upon  the  subject  look  with  great  dis- 
favor upon  the  change.  Stock-breeding  is  gen- 
erally considered  to  be  a  branch  of  industry 
fraught  with  considerable  danger  to  the  small 
capitalist.  In  Ireland  especially  cattle  and 
sheep-raising  is  a  speculation  rather  than  an 
investment,  and,  like  all  species  of  gambHng, 
is  attended  with  great  risk  to  the  man  of  small 
capital.  The  depressing  outlook  of  the  rural 
life  of  England  and  Scotland,  so  much  com- 
mented upon,  is  brought  about  by  the  passing 
of  the  land  from  under  the  plow  and  its  being 
given  over  to  stock-raising.  In  these  countries 
there  is  a  saying  that  ''the  men  decay  as  the 
kine  increase."  In  Ireland,  conditions  are  still 
worse.  Those  who  are  forced  to  leave  the 
Irish  farms  for  lack  of  work  do  not  drift  into 
native  towns  and  cities  to  engage  in  manufac- 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     301 

turing  or  mercantile  pursuits,  as  they  do  in 
England  and  Scotland,  but  emigrate  to  America, 
leaving  a  remnant  of  the  old  and  infirm  and 
unfit  to  engage  in  the  "lotus-eating  occupation 
of  opening  and  shutting  gates"  for  the  cattle 
and  sheep  to  pass  through. 

Rural  Ireland  has  gained  largely  in  the  num- 
ber of  its  cattle  and  sheep  even  within  the  past 
five  years,  but  it  has  lost  to  an  even  larger 
degree  in  the  activities  and  productiveness  of 
its  people  in  all  other  lines  on  account  of  the 
stagnation  in  agriculture  due  to  this  rush  towards 
pasturage.  It  is  a  well-known  truth  that  the 
dechne  of  tillage  in  any  country,  whatever  be 
the  cause,  involves  an  enormous  waste  of  na- 
tional resources.  In  Ireland  the  worst  possible 
results  have  come  from  such  a  condition. 

The  Irish  tenant,  or  independent  farmer,  of 
the  present  time  generally  turns  out  the  larger 
part  of  his  land  in  permanent  pasture.  Upon 
this  he  grazes  from  two  to  ten  cows,  three  or 
four  calves,  sometimes  a  small  flock  of  sheep, 
raises  half  a  dozen  pigs,  and  sometimes  keeps 
a  horse  or  a  donkey.  Hardly  half  of  the  ordi- 
nary Irish  small  farmers  keep  a  horse.  The 
small  cultivation  which  the  land  gets  is  done 


302 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


with  the  spade.  All  farm  work,  except  in  a 
few  favored  sections,  is  done  in  the  most  prim- 
itive manner.  A  modern  plow  or  mowing- 
machine,  outside  of  Ulster,  would  be  looked 
upon  with  amazement  by  the  Irish  farmer. 
There  are  large  tracts  of  land  in  central  and 
western  Ireland  that  have  not  known  a  plow 
for  a  century.  The  land  is  down  permanently 
in  grass,  and  an  occasional  top-dressing  of  the 
soil  with  fertihzer  in  the  spring  is  practically 
all  the  attention  which  is  paid  it. 

In  those  few  sections  of  the  island  where  the 
land  is  still  worked  intensively  splendid  yields 
result.  Wheat,  oats,  potatoes  and  all  kinds 
of  hardy  root  crops  yield  richly,  and  in  the 
north  flax  can  be  most  profitably  raised.  It  is 
indeed  remarkable  why  the  large  land-owners 
and  farmers  with  large  holdings  do  not  go  more 
fully  into  the  intensive  cultivation  of  the  soil. 
The  English  market  is  at  their  doors,  and 
prices  are  always  good.  Labor,  too,  may  be 
had  cheaply  if  only  a  permanent  demand  is 
made  for  it.  Every  summer  thousands  of 
laborers  from  central  and  western  Ireland  go 
over  to  Scotland  and  England  to  work  in  the 
harvest  fields.     They  return  late  in  the  autumn 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     303 

having  spent  most  of  their  summer  earnings 
in  the  Scotch  and  EngHsh  public-houses.  If 
the  same  wages  could  be  had  in  Ireland  they 
would  remain  at  home. 

Both  men  and  women  work  in  the  fields,  the 
men  commanding  a  somewhat  larger  wage 
than  the  women.  In  those  sections  where 
labor  is  in  comparatively  active  demand,  the 
prices  average  from  $2.25  to  ;^3.oo  a  week.  In 
county  Roscommon  laborers  get  9s.  id.  (^2.18) 
a  week;  in  Sligo,  8s.  iid.  (^2.14);  and  in  Mayo, 
8s.  9d.  (^2.10).  Out  of  this  wage  the  laborer 
must  board  himself.  It  can  readily  be  seen 
that  the  large  farmer,  with  proper  management, 
might  profitably  employ  large  numbers  of  men 
and  women,  upon  such  terms,  to  produce  vege- 
tables for  the    English  market. 

In  Kerry  and  Galway  a  good  stout  farm-boy 
is  often  employed  for  £10  (^50)  and  board  a 
year.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add,  however, 
that  when  these  farm-boys  do  succeed  in  rak- 
ing and  scraping  together  enough  money  to 
pay  their  steerage  fare  from  Queenstown  to 
New  York  they  lose  no  time  in  shaking  the 
Irish  dust  from  their  feet  for  good  and  all. 

In  the  greater  part  of  Ireland  the  soil  is  black 


304 


SHAMROCK-LAND 


and  rich,  —  far  richer  than  the  average  Amer- 
ican soil.  Nowhere  in  the  world  does  grass 
grow  more  luxuriantly,  and  in  no  other  coun- 
try is  the  land  so  little  encumbered  with  weeds, 
briers  and  undergrowth.  Much  of  the  coun- 
try was  originally  rocky,  but  long  cultivation, 
particularly  in  the  days  when  the  island  was 
overflowing  with  people,  has  put  the  loose 
stones  into  walls  and  fences,  while  many  have 
been  crushed  in  making  the  Irish  roads,  which 
are  as  fine  as  any  in  the  world. 

Considering  the  natural  fertility  of  the  Irish 
soil,  and  its  adaptability  to  almost  all  kinds  of 
grain  and  root  crops,  one  is  naturally  surprised 
that,  with  such  cheap  labor,  the  crops  for  the 
past  few  years  have  been  so  small.  Some  com- 
parisons here  will  certainly  not  be  amiss: 

The  total  wheat  crop  for  Ireland  for  the  year 
1907  was  1,325,000  bushels,  which  was  valued 
at  $1,127,000.  Fifteen  of  the  States  of  the 
Union  produced  more  than  ten  million  bushels 
each,  and  five  of  them  produced  more  than 
forty  million  bushels  each.  The  wheat  crop 
of  Indiana,  the  same  size  as  Ireland,  was  valued 
at  ;^30,ooo,ooo.  Ireland  produced  6,700,000 
bushels    of   barley,    a    crop    particularly    well 


5 

o 


c 

o 


> 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     305 

suited  to  the  soil  and  climate.  The  State  of  Min- 
nesota produced  26,600,000  bushels,  while  five 
other  States  produced  over  14,000,000  bushels 
each.  The  oat  crop  of  Ireland  is  one  of  its  sta- 
ples. In  1907  this  crop  amounted  to  50,000,000 
bushels,  valued  at  ^24,000,000.  The  oat  crop 
of  Iowa  was  108,000,000  bushels,  valued  at  $41,- 
000,000.  Illinois  produced  101,000,000  bushels. 
The  Irish  chmate,  always  cool  and  moist, 
favors  the  production  of  all  kinds  of  root  crops. 
Turnips,  swedes,  mangolds,  cabbage,  and  pota- 
toes were  formerly  grown  in  enormous  quan- 
tities. Indeed,  since  its  introduction  into  the 
island  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  late  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  the  potato  had  grown  by  the 
middle  of  the  last  century  to  be  the  chief  staple 
of  Ireland.  In  many  parts  of  the  island  it  was 
the  sole  support  of  the  people.  Throughout 
central  and  western  Ireland  in  the  early  half 
of  the  century  there  were  thousands  of  peas- 
ants who  hardly  knew  the  taste  of  either  meat 
or  bread.  Potatoes  and  buttermilk  constituted 
their  food  supply.  The  cultivation  of  the  potato 
superseded  that  of  wheat  and  other  cereals, 
and  after  it  had  come  into  universal  use,  fewer 
pigs  were  raised  and  even  less  meat  was  con- 


3o6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

sumed  than  before.  Between  1800  and  1845 
perhaps  three-fourths  of  the  Irish  people  were 
wholly  dependent  upon  the  potato  for  support. 
The  potato  crop  of  Ireland  is  still  its  largest 
production.  In  1907  this  amounted  to  about 
111,000,000  bushels,  worth  about  ^40,000,000. 
The  total  potato  crop  of  the  United  States  was 
298,000,000  bushels,  worth  ^183,000,000.  New 
York  State  produced  41,000,000  bushels,  worth 
^23,000,000,  a  sum  more  than  half  the  total 
valuation  of  the  entire  crop  of  Ireland.  With 
all  its  rush  towards  pasturage,  the  total  hay 
output  of  Ireland  in  1907,  sown  grass  and  per- 
manent grass,  was  but  5,000,000  tons.  New 
York  State  produced  6,000,000  tons  and  a 
number  of  other  States  produced  almost  as 
much.  These  staple  crops,  with  the  exception 
of  flax,  which  is  produced  largely  in  North 
Ireland,  are  practically  all  that  Ireland  must 
fall  back  upon  for  a  livelihood.  The  climate 
is  too  severe  for  Indian  corn,  cotton,  sweet 
potatoes,  tomatoes,  or  the  thousand  and  one 
small  crops  that  help  to  make  the  American 
farmers  independent.  If  it  were  not  for  their 
cattle  and  sheep  the  Irish  could  not  make  a 
living  on  the  island. 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     307 

The  farmers  and  others  in  rural  Ireland  might 
be  helped  by  mining,  milling,  timbering,  and 
other  such  pursuits,  but  none  of  these  things 
is  done  there.  The  country  is  said  to  contain 
iron,  silver,  gold,  lead,  and  copper,  but  not  an 
ounce  of  these  metals  has  been  produced  in 
fifty  years.  The  coal-beds  are  very  small, 
and  the  output  is  inconsiderable.  The  Irish 
rivers  might  furnish  enormous  power  for  manu- 
facturing if  they  v^ere  properly  harnessed,  but 
this  has  never  been  done.  There  are  not  even 
grist  or  flouring  mills  of  any  consequence,  and 
the  very  nature  of  the  case  excludes  saw  and 
wood-working  mills. 

An  American  who  travels  in  Ireland  begins 
to  wonder  as  soon  as  he  looks  about  him  and 
sees  the  stagnation  of  the  country  why  it  is  that 
the  Irish  people  themselves  or  their  wealthy 
sympathizers  among  the  English  or  the  Scotch 
do  not  devise  some  means  for  supplementing 
the  earnings  of  the  small  farmers  and  laborers 
in  some  of  those  ways  so  well  known  in  the 
United  States.  This  might  be  done  by  estab- 
lishing mills  or  factories,  even  upon  a  small 
scale,  throughout  the  rural  section  where  labor 
is  so  cheap  and  agriculture  so  restricted.     Some 


3o8  SHAMROCK-LAND 

say,  in  answer  to  this,  that  Irish  labor  is  so 
uncertain  and  the  Irish  coal-beds  so  small  that 
Ireland  can  never  hope  to  be  a  manufacturing 
country.  The  few  factories  in  Ireland  to-day, 
outside  of  a  few  cities,  count  for  but  little  in 
the  life  of  the  great  masses  of  Irish  people. 

The  rivers  of  Ireland  are  particularly  well 
adapted  to  bear  commerce  and  furnish  power; 
but  to-day  they  are  of  little  more  use  to  the 
Irish  that  the  Hudson  was  to  the  aborigines 
four  hundred  years  ago.  The  Shannon,  a 
wonderful  stream  flowing  for  240  miles  through 
a  naturally  fertile  and  beautiful  country,  with 
tumbling  towers  and  ruined  castle  walls  on  its 
banks,  is  without  commerce  except  in  summer 
when  one  lone  daily  steamer  is  run  for  the  ben- 
efit of  tourists  and  transients;  and  from  its 
source  in  the  beautiful  hills  of  Cavan  to  the 
magnificent  bay  at  its  mouth,  there  is  not  a 
single  mill  or  factory  outside  of  the  old  and 
declining  city  of  Limerick.  The  same  condi- 
tion of  stagnation  exists  on  the  Suir,  the  Lee, 
the  Blackwater  and  the  Erne.  All  these  streams 
might  be  dammed  and  harnessed,  and  made 
to  produce  electric  power  sufficient  to  manu- 
facture  millions  of  dollars'  worth  of  woolens 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS   IT  IS  TO-DAY     309 

and  linens,  and  convert  central  and  southern 
Ireland  into  a  rich  and  busy  country. 

The  condition  of  stagnation  in  Ireland's 
rural  life  has  within  the  past  two  or  three  years 
brought  to  life  many  schemes  for  the  reawaken- 
ing of  the  old  island  to  a  conformity  with  mod- 
ern progress  in  living.  The  Gaelic  League 
was  organized  in  1893  by  the  Irish  people  them- 
selves for  the  purpose  of  reviving  the  old  Irish, 
or  Gaelic,  tongue.  Its  object  primarily  has 
been  and  still  is  to  revive  interest  in  the  study 
and  publication  of  existing  Irish  literature  and 
to  cultivate  a  modern  literature  in  Irish.  In 
this  way  the  effort  is  made  indirectly  to  create 
a  new  national  and  racial  pride  and  to  stimulate 
all  kinds  of  industry. 

In  a  large  number  of  the  national  schools 
the  young  people  are  engaged  in  learning  this 
difficult  and  peculiar  language  of  their  ances- 
tors. The  Irish  claim  that  this  course  will 
serve  to  give  back  to  the  Irish  the  dreams  in 
which  Irish  nature  revels  and  upon  which  Irish 
nature  thrives.  Many  practical  people  are  op- 
posed to  the  movement  upon  the  grounds  that 
a  revival  of  Irish  sentiment  with  a  useless  lan- 
guage will  serve  only  to  separate  Ireland  still 


310  SHAMROCK-LAND 

further  from  all  that  is  practical  and  progress- 
ive. Isolation,  they  say,  with  too  much  senti- 
ment, has  been  to  a  large  extent  the  cause  of 
Ireland's  undoing.  Still,  the  League  is  doing 
a  great  work  in  the  island,  and  is  astoundingly 
popular  with  the  great  masses  of  the  Irish  peo- 
ple, especially  the  Irish-speaking  people  of  the 
West.  It  issues  two  or  three  periodicals  and 
publishes  books  in  the  old  Erse  or  Gaelic  tongue. 
During  one  year  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mil- 
lion copies  of  a  GaeHc  book  were  sold  among 
people  who  were  never  known  to  purchase  or 
read  an  English  book.  Friends  of  the  Gaelic 
League  and  those  who  are  pushing  its  work 
declare  that  it  will  eventually  result  in  the  re- 
making of  Ireland  upon  the  old  national  Hues 
by  creating  a  pride  in  the  language  and  the 
race  among  all  classes  of  the  people.  It  may 
be  said  to  the  credit  of  the  League  that  it  is 
strictly  non-political  and  non-sectarian.  It  yet 
remains  to  be  seen  just  what  this  rather  remark- 
able movement  will  accomplish  in  the  way 
of  rejuvenating  the  old  land. 

The  various  efforts  of  individuals  and  of 
government  boards  to  stimulate  Irish  agricul- 
ture,   such   as    those    put    forth   by   the    Irish 


RURAL  IRELAND  AS  IT  IS  TO-DAY     311 

Department  of  Agriculture  and  Technical  In- 
struction, the  Earl  of  Dunraven,  President  of 
the  Irish  Reform  Association,  Sir  Horace  Plun- 
kett,  and  others,  have  met  with  a  fair  measure 
of  success.  The  establishment  of  creameries, 
as  already  mentioned,  is  one  of  the  innovations 
made  by  these  agencies.  Scotch  fishermen, 
with  boats,  have  been  employed  to  teach  the 
Irish  of  the  west  coast  profitable  methods  of 
fishing;  technical  schools  have  been  founded  in 
conjunction  with  other  schools  in  various  parts 
of  the  country,  and  small  markets  have  been 
established  for  the  sale  of  Irish  home  products. 
Hand-weaving,  spinning,  knitting,  embroider- 
ing, shirt-making,  lace-making,  and  crocheting 
have  been  developed  somewhat  within  the  past 
few  years,  especially  in  mountain  regions  of 
the  West,  where  poverty  most  abounds,  in 
order  that  the  women  might  be  able  to  help 
keep  the  wolf  from  the  door. 

This  is  a  period  of  Irish  history  which  gen- 
erations of  the  future  will  probably  look  back 
upon  as  the  beginning  of  an  era  of  change  and 
development  when  Ireland  emerged  from  a  long- 
continued  state  of  depression  and  stagnation, 
brought  about  by  centuries  of  misrule,  into  a 


312  SHAMROCK-LAND 

condition  of  freedom  and  happiness  to  which 
the  richness  of  her  soil,  the  gentleness  of  her 
climate,  the  strange  beauty  of  her  scenery,  and 
the  genius  of  her  people  entitle  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SUNSET  AT   THE    GIANT's    CAUSEWAY 

The  legend  relates  that  long,  long  ago  — 
far  back  in  the  dim  ages  of  the  past,  ere  civi- 
lized folk  had  ever  set  foot  upon  the  Green  Isle 
—  an  expedition  went  out  from  some  distant 
country  for  the  purpose  of  conquering  the 
strange  peoples  upon  this  rich  island  of  the 
sea.  The  little  ships  were  nearing  the  moun- 
tains which  stood  along  the  coast  when  the 
leader  arose  in  his  boat  and  declared  that  who- 
soever of  all  the  men  should  first  touch  the  shores 
should  possess  the  land  and  become  sovereign 
of  the  kingdom;  and  no  one  might  ever  dis- 
possess him,  but  he  should  hand  it  down  to 
his  heirs  forever.  One  dark-browed  man,  with 
strength  and  power  written  upon  his  face, 
strove  with  all  his  might  to  reach  the  land  first 
of  all,  but  his  ship  was  heavier  than  the  rest, 
and  his  oarsmen  were  weak,  and  another  boat 
seemed   about   to    push   ahead   of  him  to   the 

shore.     So    the    man    of  beetling    black    brow 

313 


314  SHAMROCK-LAND 

ground  his  teeth,  seized  an  axe,  and  severed 
his  left  hand  at  the  wrist.  With  his  right  he 
threw  it  far  out  on  the  sandy  shore.  Thus  the 
first  of  the  O 'Neils,  tradition  says,  came  into 
Ireland  to  possess  it  and  to  rule  it  forever. 

Hence  a  sinister  hand,  gules,  became  the 
armorial  ensign  of  the  Province  of  Ulster. 
That  red  left  hand  has  for  centuries  struck 
terror  into  the  hearts  of  those  families  or 
tribes  or  clans  or  peoples  who  in  one  man- 
ner or  another  gained  the  enmity  of  that 
fierce  race  of  kings  who  first  ruled  upon  the 
Irish  shores. 

As  one  travels  in  leisurely  manner  from  Bel- 
fast northwestwardly  to  the  ocean  which  bathes 
the  picturesque  northern  coast  of  Ireland,  he 
meets  with  many  a  hoary  ruin  that  holds  in 
the  vineclad  tower  and  tumbling  keep  innu- 
merable stories  of  those  warHke  O 'Neils  who 
through  all  the  centuries  of  written  and  tra- 
ditional Irish  history  were  connected  in  one 
manner  or  another  with  almost  every  impor- 
tant event  which  occurred. 

On  the  northern  shore  of  Lough  Neagh, 
known  in  olden  times  as  Lough  N'Eachach, 
jutting  out  into  the  waves  upon  a  peninsula, 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  315 

are  the  ruins  of  Shane's  Castle,  one  of  the  most 
famous  castle  remains  of  Ireland.  Here,  al- 
most covered  up  in  the  shade  of  great  gnarled 
trees,  are  tumbling  walls,  and  vine-covered 
turrets,  and  ruined  towers,  and  danksome 
keeps  —  silent  and  mournful  reminders  of  those 
old  days  of  Ulster 

"When  her  kings,  with  standard  of  green  unfurled, 
Led  her  Red-Hand  knights  to  danger  ;  — 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  Western  world 
Was  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger." 

Within  and  about  the  tottering  ruins  are 
marks  of  the  olden  times.  Here  was  for  a 
thousand  years,  and  is  to-day  (if  you  will  but 
listen  to  the  stories  told  by  neighboring  peas- 
antry), the  primal  and  original  home  of  the 
Banshee.  She  made  her  home  here  to  keep 
watch  over  the  family  of  the  O 'Neils.  When- 
ever one  of  them  was  killed  in  battle,  or  was 
lost  at  sea,  or  passed  quietly  away  in  some 
other  castle  fastness,  all  the  night  long  her 
shrieks  could  be  heard  down  in  the  dense  woods, 
upon  the  lake  shore,  high  up  in  the  great  old 
castle,  or  in  the  vaults  and  dungeons  under- 
neath. Oftentimes  her  bitter  wail  could  be 
heard  coming  from  the  graveyard  where  mul- 


3i6  SHAMROCK-LAND 

titudes  of  the  O 'Neils  were  buried  in  the  yew- 
trees*  shade.  And  even  in  modern  days,  long 
since  the  last  O'Neil  was  deprived  of  temporal 
power,  the  Banshee  has  been  heard  repeatedly 
to  wail.  Her  cries  come  at  night  whenever  a 
descendant  of  the  O'Neil  family  dies,  it  matters 
not  whether  he  is  of  the  gentry  or  is  but  a  lowly 
peasant  dispossessed  of  his  land.  If  he  is  an 
O'Neil  or  has  O'Neil  blood  in  his  veins,  his 
death  will  be  announced  in  and  about  the  ruins 
of  Shane's  Castle  by  the  Banshee  who  for  so 
many  generations  has  kept  watch  over  the 
O'Neil  family.  To  hint  a  doubt  of  the  pres- 
ence and  residence  of  the  Banshee  here  would 
be  considered  by  the  old  folk  as  something  near 
akin  to  blasphemy.  "Och!  and  did  I  not  hear 
the  wail  myself  that  night  the  ould  master 
died?"  one  will  tell  you.  Or  *'Indade,  sir, 
and  I  have  seen  her  virry  gyarments  glisten 
there  against  the  wall  o'  stormy  nights  whin  a 
death  had  occurred  in  the  ould  family."  And 
they  will  describe  to  you  the  mournfulness  of 
her  wail  until  you  actually  become  unwilling  to 
ramble  too  far  alone  among  those  black  old 
ruins  or  about  the  ancient  graves. 

Along  the  lake  and  on  the  island  near  the 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  317 

shore  are  innumerable  ruins  of  castles  and 
round-towers;  and  they  say  that  underneath 
the  waves  there  are  many  others  that  have  long 
ago  sunken  out  of  sight.  For  there  are  many 
strange  legends  connected  with  the  old  place. 
In  Caxton's  history,  published  in  England  in 
1497,  there  is  an  account  of  how  this  the  larg- 
est lake  of  the  British  Isles  originated.  The  old 
book  earnestly  relates  that  "there  were  men  in 
this  contre  of  evyle  lyvinge"  —  this  was  why 
calamity  overtook  them.  And  in  the  following 
manner  their  sins  were  visited  upon  them:  There 
was  a  well  in  the  neighborhood  where  all  came 
to  be  suppHed  with  water.  It  was  a  magic  well, 
and  had  to  be  kept  covered  at  all  times.  One 
day  it  chanced  that  a  woman  went  to  the  well 
to  get  water,  and  being  in  a  hurry  she  "hyed 
fasd  to  hyr  chylde  yd  wepd  in  ye  cradele,'* 
leaving  the  well  uncovered.  That  night  it 
overflowed  and  made  a  lake  out  of  the  val- 
ley. Entire  towns  and  villages,  they  say, 
were  submerged.  The  old  record  recounts: 
"Fysshers  of  yd  water  see  in  ye  grounde  under 
ye  water  rounde  toweres  and  hyghe  shapen 
steeples  and  churches  of  yd  land." 
Sings  the  poet  about  it: 


3i8  SHAMROCK-LAND 

"On  Lough  Neagh's  banks  as  the  fisherman  strays, 
When  the  clear  soft  eve's  declining, 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days 
In  the  wave  beneath  him  shining." 

At  Antrim,  a  small  town  near  Shane's  Castle, 
one  sees  in  the  deer-park  which  formerly  be- 
longed to  the  castle  a  stone  which  once  marked 
the  burial-place  of  a  large  number  of  the  O'Neils. 
It  has  a  rather  remarkable  inscription  upon  it: 
"This  vault  was  erected  in  the  year  1660  by 
Shean  MacPhehm  MacBryan  MacShean  O'Neil, 
Esq.,  as  a  burying-place  for  himself  and  the 
family  of  Clandeboy.'* 

A  few  miles  north  of  Shane's  Castle  is  Bally- 
mena,  a  prosperous  flax-market  town,  about 
which  are  innumerable  ruins  and  landmarks. 
Here  is  Ballykeel  Moat,  a  rath  fifty  feet  high, 
and  a  great  amphitheater  which  is  probably  of 
Druidical  origin.  Not  far  away  on  the  east  is 
Sliemish,  a  mountain  upon  which  St.  Patrick 
lived  as  a  shepherd  for  several  years  after  he 
first  came  to  Ireland.  Near  Sliemish  is  a 
Druid's  altar  of  much  impressiveness. 

Traveling  between  Ballymena  and  Bally- 
money  on  a  train  bound  for  Portrush,  I  often 
broke  the  rules  of  the  Irish  railways  by  thrust- 


o 

2: 


C3 
O 

u 


< 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  319 

ing  my  head  far  out  of  the  window  of  my  com- 
partment, where  I  had  been  some  time  alone, 
to  see  some  interesting  bit  of  scenery  or  some 
unusual  sight  along  the  way.  I  noticed  that 
another  head  was  often  outside  of  another 
window  in  the  compartment  adjoining  mine. 
I  did  not  even  suspect  that  my  neighbor  might 
be  a  fellow-countryman  until  at  the  little  sta- 
tion of  Glaryford,  where  the  railroad  crosses 
the  River  Clogh,  I  heard  him  with  a  keen 
Yankee  voice  comment  upon  a  bit  of  scenery 
against  the  grassy  hillside.  Then  I  spoke. 
Within  five  minutes  he  had  transferred  his 
handbaggage  to  my  compartment,  and  we  were 
talking  like  old  friends.  ''Look  at  me!"  said 
he,  standing  up.  "I'm  actually  one-sided  from 
riding  in  a  jaunting-car  so  much.  But  I've 
seen  it  all,  sir,  actually  all  in  south  Ireland!" 
We  talked  together,  comparing  notes,  until  we 
reached  the  northern  coast,  when  we  separated 
to  meet  again  the  next  day  and  remain  together 
during  a  tour  of  Scotland.  He  was  a  New 
Yorker,  a  Master  of  Arts  of  Yale,  and  his 
greatest  pleasure  was  found  in  joking  with 
the  railroad  officials  and  country  peasants, 
and  playing  upon  the  pianos  at  the  hotels  and 


320  SHAMROCK-LAND 

charming  all  the  many  who  stopped  to  hear 
his  music.  As  we  sailed  away  from  Ireland  he 
assured  me  that  while  he  had  traveled  exten- 
sively he  knew  of  no  country  comparable  to 
Ireland  in  the  rare  beauty  of  its  scenery  or  in 
the  kindness  of  its  people.  Whenever  we  came 
in  contact  with  American  tourists  in  Scotland, 
which  was  frequent,  I  overheard  him  advising 
them  to  include  Ireland  in  their  itinerary.  I 
mention  these  facts  only  to  show  how  all  Amer- 
icans are  impressed  with  Ireland  after  having 
traveled  through  its  interior. 

Passing  Ballymoney,  we  were  soon  nearing 
the  end  of  our  day's  journey.  The  country 
about  us  was  beautiful.  Rich  meadows  lay 
on  every  hand,  with  the  River  Bann  down  on 
our  left,  flowing  placidly  down  to  the  ocean. 
In  the  western  distance  were  round  grass- 
covered  mountains  that  reeked  with  greenness. 
Turning  due  north  at  Coleraine,  a  prosperous 
little  city  of  very  early  foundation,  we  soon 
came  in  sight  of  the  ocean.  Ah!  how  it  gleamed 
and  glittered  in  the  light  of  the  summer  sun! 
How  blue,  and  pure,  and  tender  it  appeared, 
begirt  with  green  shores  and  beset  with  emerald 
islands! 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  321 

We  left  the  train  at  Portrush,  a  clean,  new 
town  on  the  coast  which  is  rapidly  becoming 
the  most  popular  seaside  resort  in  Ireland. 
Every  day  in  summer  crowds  come  over  the 
railroads  to  bathe  in  the  ocean,  stroll  along 
the  coast,  and  play  golf  on  the  Portrush  links. 
On  that  day  there  were  many  visitors  in  the 
town,  all  of  prosperous-looking  people.  Among 
them  were  many  children  who  came  to  bathe 
in  the  ocean.  They  undressed  among  the 
rocks  upon  the  sands,  got  into  a  slip  of  a  gar- 
ment, and  waded  out  into  the  water  where 
they  enjoyed  themselves  to  the  utmost. 

An  electric  line  runs  from  Portrush  east- 
wardly  along  the  coast  to  the  Giant's  Cause- 
way, eight  miles  away.  It  was  a  particularly 
bright  afternoon  when  I  made  the  trip.  We 
ran  instantly  out  into  the  green  meadows,  rich 
with  all  kinds  of  summer  bloom.  The  golf 
links,  stretching  along  the  coast,  were  swarm- 
ing with  players,  as,  I  was  informed,  was  the 
case  almost  every  agreeable  day  in  summer. 
They  are  the  best  Hnks  in  Ireland,  and  so  far 
as  scenery  goes  perhaps  the  most  happily  sit- 
uated links  in  the  United  Kingdom.  For  here 
begins  a  view  of  sea-coast  which  for  genuine 


322  SHAMROCK-LAND 

beauty  and  grandeur  is  acknowledged  to  be 
one  of  the  most  charming  in  the  world. 

As  we  glided  to  the  top  of  a  smooth  green 
hill  and  began  descending  on  the  other  side 
the  beauty  of  it  all  dawned  upon  me.  The 
richness  of  the  country  was  remarkable.  On 
our  left  was  the  sea,  densely  blue  in  the  sum- 
mer haze,  and  on  our  right,  towards  the  south, 
was  an  undulating  country  of  meadows  and 
fields  —  the  picture  of  pastoral  peace.  Five 
miles  away,  in  front,  arose  the  mighty  cliffs  at 
whose  base  lay  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world. 
Down  through  meadow  and  orchard  and  daisy- 
flecked  field  we  went,  turning  now  here,  now 
there,  while  the  rich  sweetness  of  summer  blos- 
soms and  new-mown  hay  was  swept  in  to  us 
from  the  fields. 

The  car  men  had  talked  with  me  in  Portrush 
before  we  started,  and  they  had  agreed  to 
point  out  to  me  the  places  of  interest  and  stop 
the  car  for  me  to  get  some  of  the  prettiest  views. 
On  the  way  the  man  who  handled  the  trolley 
and  collected  the  fares,  known  in  America  as 
the  conductor,  came  around  and  talked  with 
me  about  himself  and  his  work.  He  and  the 
driver  were    stout   fellows  with   pleasant  faces 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  323 

and  genial  manners.  The  driver  was  paid 
twenty-five  shillings  a  week  for  his  work,  and 
the  conductor  fifteen  shillings,  equivalent  to 
$2S  and  $15  a  month,  American  money.  It 
is  scarcely  a  wonder  that  they  both  were  anxious 
for  me  to  procure  jobs  for  them  in  the  United 
States. 

About  four  miles  east  of  Portrush  we  came 
opposite  the  ruins  of  Dunluce  Castle,  a  vast 
pile  of  gray  turrets,  walls  and  towers,  built 
on  the  summits  of  jagged  and  precipitate  masses 
of  rock  arising  from  the  ocean  a  hundred  feet 
below.  These  ruins  are  picturesque  in  the 
extreme.  The  rocks  upon  which  the  castle 
is  built  are  connected  with  the  shore  by  a  nar- 
row wall  only  eighteen  inches  in  thickness 
which  was  built  in  the  place  of  a  former  draw- 
bridge. When  the  castle  was  in  use  it  must 
have  been  quite  impossible  for  an  enemy  to 
take  it  or  even  to  reach  it  at  all  except  by  cross- 
ing the  drawbridge. 

In  one  of  the  chambers  of  the  gray  old  castle 
a  Banshee  is  said  still  to  reside.  The  older 
and  more  superstitious  folk  in  that  region  are 
confident  that  she  makes  her  home  among  these 
ancient  and  gloomy  ruins,  else  why  is  it  that 


324  SHAMROCK-LAND 

the  chamber  is  always  kept  swept  so  clean,  and 
why  is  it  that  one  can  hear  on  stormy  nights 
her  wail  arising  above  the  sound  of  the  waves 
which  beat  against  the  cavern  walls  under- 
neath the  castle  rock  ? 

One  of  the  rooms  of  the  castle  is  suspended 
in  the  air,  being  held  in  position  only  by  con- 
nection with  the  rest  of  the  structure.  That 
portion  of  the  rock  upon  which  it  was  built 
has  fallen  into  the  sea.  There  was  a  similar 
happening  in  1639  when  the  Marchioness  of 
Buckingham  was  entertaining  guests  in  the 
castle.  It  was  a  stormy  night,  and  the  waves 
boomed  outside  against  the  cHfifs,  but  those 
within  felt  snug  and  secure.  However,  late 
in  the  night  a  portion  of  the  cliff  gave  way  and 
precipitated  one  of  the  apartments  adjoining 
the  kitchen  into  the  waves.  Eight  servants 
who  were  sleeping  therein  went  down  into  the 
sea  with  the  stones. 

Though  there  is  lack  of  definite  data,  it  is 
thought  that  Dunluce  Castle  was  built  by  the 
McQuillans  about  1550.  For  several  centuries 
its  history  was  replete  with  romance  and  tragedy. 

The  day  when  I  saw  the  castle  the  sun 
streamed  down  upon  it  softly,  the  waves  below 


u 


c 


i    o 


o 

C 
3 

Q 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  325 

were  gentle,  and  all  along  the  grassy  tops  of 
the  cliffs  summer  daisies  were  growing  and 
birds  were  building  their  nests  in  the  ruined 
walls. 

Two  miles  east  of  Dunluce  is  the  old  village 
of  Bush  Mills,  a  pretty  rural  town  of  about  a 
thousand  inhabitants,  situated  in  the  midst 
of  a  country  of  grass  and  grain.  The  Bush 
River,  upon  which  it  is  situated,  is  a  fine  stream 
which  turns  the  wheels  of  factories  and  fur- 
nishes good  fishing. 

Making  a  sharp  turn  at  Bush  Mills  and 
proceeding  northeast  through  the  green  fields 
and  along  the  rolling  hills,  one  soon  reaches 
the  end  of  the  tramway  line  where  he  alights 
and  walks  up  the  hill  to  the  tourists'  hotel. 

The  first  evening  after  my  arrival  I  ate  sup- 
per in  a  dining-room  overlooking  the  sea, 
attended  by  Swiss  waiters  and  entertained  by 
an  old  German  professor  who  had  come  hither 
with  his  Frau  to  recuperate  after  a  hard  win- 
ter's lecturing  in  one  of  the  universities. 

After  supper  I  set  out  alone  to  explore  the 
Causeway.  I  fought  off  all  proffers  from  guides, 
for  I  was  determined  that  this  evening  should 
be  one  of  quiet  enjoyment  of  nature. 


326  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Descending  a  long  and  in  some  places  steep 
decline,  I  at  last  found  myself  almost  on  a  level 
with  the  sea.  Here  my  walk  abruptly  ended 
until  I  produced  the  sixpence  which  was  re- 
quired of  me  before  I  could  be  admitted  through 
the  turnstile. 

"The  rocks  are  wet,"  said  the  old  gate-keeper. 
"See  that  ye  keep  a  firm  step  over  the  smooth 
stones,  else  we  might  have  to  come  after  ye 
in  a  wheelbarrow.  But  jist  go  where  ye  will 
and  enjoy  yourself  to  the  utmost.'* 

In  ten  minutes  more  I  had  seen  the  Giant's 
Causeway.  I  hardly  knew  what  to  think  of 
it  at  all.  This  was  one  of  the  world's  great 
wonders,  but  to  me  there  was  nothing  sublime 
there.  No  lump  came  into  my  throat,  and  no 
tears  into  my  eyes.  I  must  confess  that  I  was 
disappointed.  I  had  seen  pictures  of  the  Cause- 
way in  school  geographies  when  a  child,  and 
I  expected  to  see  here  some  of  those  gigantic 
masses  of  rocks  and  stormy  waves.  But  the 
sea  was  rippling  quietly  on  the  shore,  and  the 
stones  of  the  Causeway  were  small  indeed.  Yet 
there  was  something  remarkable  there  unlike 
anything  which  I  had  seen  before.  There 
spread  out  before  me  were  forty  thousand  pil- 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  327 

lars  of  stone,  all  apparently  about  twenty  inches 
in  diameter,  and  with  a  few  exceptions  all  hav- 
ing five  or  six  sides,  cut  with  an  exactness 
approximating  a  geometrical  figure.  These  pil- 
lars, they  say,  are  jointed  like  bamboo,  the 
sections  having  a  convex  base  and  a  concave 
top.  The  columns  are  down  on  the  shore 
only  a  few  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  One 
may  walk  around  on  the  tops  of  the  stones 
where  he  pleases  and  make  such  observations 
as  suits  him  —  wondering  the  while  how  it 
was  that  Dame  Nature  should  ever  have  thought 
of  eff^ecting  such  a  freak  as  this. 

After  wandering  around  for  some  time  upon  the 
Causeway  stones,  I  went  up  and  sat  on  a  bench 
with  the  keeper  and  several  of  his  visitors, 
possibly  neighbors  of  his  who  had  come  to 
look  out  over  the  sea,  tell  stories,  and  while 
away  the  twilight  hours.  Among  them  was  a 
Scotch-Irishman  of  above  middle  age  who 
talked  to  me  for  some  time  about  the  Land 
Act  of  1903.  He  himself  had  purchased  a 
small  farm  under  this  act,  paying  for  it  with 
money  borrowed  from  the  Government.  He 
was  glad  indeed  to  get  from  under  the  thumb 
of  the  landlord.     He  felt  now  like  a  free  man. 


328  SHAMROCK-LAND 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I  have  no  more  dealings  with 
the  landlord  than  I  do  with  the  devil,"  adding 
after  some  thought,  "possibly  not  quite  so 
much."  The  man  was  what  might  be  called 
an  uneducated  small  farmer,  though  he  had 
good  sense  and  was  above  the  average  in  powers 
of  conversation.  He  talked  most  sensible  of 
Ireland  and  her  problems,  choosing  rather  the 
Scotch-Irish  view  of  the  matter,  though  he  was 
decidedly  democratic  in  spirit.  He  would  have 
made  a  successful  farmer  in  America  or  a  shrewd 
man  of  business. 

An  old  woman  was  seated  on  a  bench  near 
by.  She  had  begun  talking  to  me  when  I 
first  came  in  sight,  and  had  kept  up  her  con- 
versation as  best  she  could  all  the  time  I  sat 
there.  She  appeared  to  be  real  Irish,  and  her 
manner  of  expression  was  that  of  the  South. 
Och!  no,  I  did  not  have  to  tell  her  I  was  an 
American.  She  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  came  in 
sight.  She  could  tell  Americans  as  far  as  she 
could  see  them.  Possibly  there  was  some 
peculiarity  in  their  dress,  but  it  was  most  of 
all  their  quickness  and  the  business-like  man- 
ner in  which  they  went  about  everything,  even 
the   exploration   of  the   Causeway.     They   lost 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  329 

no  time  in  anything  except  the  pronunciation 
of  their  words  and  the  formation  of  their  sen- 
tences. She  could  not  understand  this  exactly, 
but  she  was  certain  the  Irish  were  much  quicker 
of  speech.  But  how  she  did  like  the  Americans! 
They  were  so  cordial  and  so  kind.  And  she 
had  many  friends  in  the  United  States.  She 
was  sure  it  must  be  a  *' grate  counthry." 

And  the  little  group  continued  to  talk  to  me 
about  Ireland,  its  affairs  and  its  traditions. 

Did  I  see  that  green  island  lying  out  there 
in  the  ocean  ?  One  of  those  sitting  by  asked 
me.  Well,  far  out  beyond  it  were  the  many 
islands  off  the  western  coast  of  Scotland.  One 
of  them  was  the  isle  of  Staffa,  and  upon  it, 
down  on  a  level  with  the  sea,  was  Fingal's 
Cave.  Though  the  nearest  Scotch  island  was 
scarce  thirty  miles  across  the  North  Channel, 
yet  Staffa  was  ninety  miles  away  on  the  north. 
At  one  time  many,  many  years  ago  the  Giant's 
Causeway  extended  from  these  chffs  where 
we  sat  to  Staffa.  Any  one  might  be  able  to 
see  that  it  had  been  built  by  giants.  Only 
giants  could  hew  and  handle  those  mighty 
stones.  The  building  of  it  came  about  in  this 
wise: 


330  SHAMROCK-LAND 

Fin  MacCoul  had  for  many  years  been  the 
champion  of  all  Ireland.  Not  another  giant 
in  the  country,  and  there  were  many,  had  ever 
dared  openly  to  oppose  him  in  anything.  But 
over  in  Scotland  there  was  one  great  fellow, 
Benandonner,  who  was  most  insolent  in  the 
messages  which  he  constantly  sent  over  to  Fin. 
He  just  wanted  to  see  Fin  once  and  give  him  a 
drubbing  that  he  would  not  soon  forget.  Only 
it  was  winter,  and  the  water  was  cold,  and  he 
did  not  care  to  swim  over.  Fin  applied  to 
the  king  for  permission  to  construct  a  causeway 
connecting  the  two  countries,  in  order  that 
the  Scotchman  might  have  no  excuse  for  not 
coming.  The  king  gave  his  permission  —  he 
was  not  unused  to  allowing  Fin  to  have  his 
way  in  most  things  —  and  the  Irishman,  who 
was  a  rapid  workman,  lost  no  time  in  complet- 
ing the  causeway  across  to  Scotland.  The 
Scotch  giant  reluctantly  came  over,  but  he  had 
no  sooner  planted  his  feet  on  Ulster  soil  than 
Fin  gave  him  a  beating  that  left  him  black  and 
blue  for  many  a  day.  But,  like  all  true  Irish- 
men, Fin  was  generous  and  kind,  and  he  gave 
Benandonner  permission  to  marry  and  settle 
in   Ireland.     This  the   Scotch   giant   was  glad 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  331 

to  do,  being  that  Scotland  is  such  a  poor  coun- 
try to  Hve  in  anyway,  and  everybody  knows 
that  Ireland  is  the  best  country  in  the  world. 

After  the  giants  died  the  causeway  went  into 
disuse  and  gradually  sank  beneath  the  waves. 
Only  portions  of  it  might  now  be  seen  —  at 
either  end  and  on  the  coast  of  Rathlin  Island. 

BeetHng  above  us  were  a  number  of  tall 
slender  rocks  known  as  the  Chimney-tops.  In 
Elizabeth's  time  these  rocks  were  battered  by 
cannon-balls  from  one  of  the  ships  of  the  Span- 
ish Armada  whose  crew  mistook  them  for  the 
turrets  of  Dunluce  Castle.  Thus  losing  its 
bearings,  and  the  night  being  stormy,  the  ship 
went  down  on  the  rocks  in  that  bay  before  us. 
It  was  now  known  as  Port-na-Spania.  Casks 
of  gold  were  rolled  in  on  the  shore  by  the  waves, 
and  they  say  that  the  rocks  are  stained  with 
Spanish  wine  even  to  this  day.  Many  years 
later  the  skeletons  of  the  lost  Spaniards  could 
now  and  then  be  found;  and  sometimes  a 
skull  laced  up  in  armor  would  come  in,  with 
death  laughing  through  the  chattering  jaws. 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  ocean  which  lay 
quietly  before  us.  The  air  was  full  of  the  fresh 
odors  of  the   sea  and  the   bloom  of  summer 


332  SHAMROCK-LAND 

flowers  on  the  cliffs.  I  left  the  little  company 
there  in  the  quiet  of  the  approaching  twilight, 
and  walked  up  the  path  along  the  cliffs.  As  I 
went  on  I  got  higher  and  higher  above  the  sea. 
The  scenery  grew  wilder  and  the  prospects 
became  mightier.  In  some  places  the  path 
along  the  cliffs  was  cut  around  boulders  or 
made  to  hang  over  dizzy  precipices.  It  was 
only  after  I  had  climbed  these  heights  that  I 
fully  understood  why  the  Giant's  Causeway  is 
so  popular  with  those  who  love  the  beautiful 
and  the  wonderful  in  nature.  That  marvel- 
ous floor  of  polished  hexagons  down  near  the 
waves  perhaps  attracted  many  to  the  place 
that  they  might  study  the  strange  formations 
in  stone,  but  it  was  these  mighty  cliffs,  reaching 
from  the  sea  up  to  dizzy  heights  that  added  a 
touch  of  the  sublime  which  once  having  been 
seen  can  never  be  forgotten. 

More  and  more  beautiful  grew  the  wide- 
stretched  sea,  purpler  grew  the  cliffs,  and  ten- 
derer the  sky.  Onward  and  upward  still  I 
went  until  at  last  I  reached  the  summit.  Be- 
fore me  were  no  rocky  mountain-sides  or 
wastes  of  stone.  Instead,  there  were  meadows 
flecked  with  daisies  and  primroses;  and  coun- 


> 


^ 


C/2 


SUNSET  AT  THE  GIANT'S   CAUSEWAY  ^^^ 

try  lanes,  enclosed  with  hawthorn  hedges, 
stretched  into  the  hazy  distance  of  this  day  of 
June. 

The  hnnets  were  singing  their  evening  songs; 
sweet  odors  of  sod-blossoms  and  new-mown 
hay  filled  the  summer  air.  Far,  far  out,  stretch- 
ing away  from  the  foot  of  these  giant  cliffs,  the 
sea  lay,  dimpled  like  some  inland  lake. 

And  oh!  the  glory  that  filled  the  sky  when 
the  sun  sank  into  the  sea!  I  thought  it  was 
worth  crossing  the  ocean  only  to  sit  there  for 
an  hour  upon  the  sward  of  matted  shamrocks 
at  the  top  of  the  beetling  heights,  with  the  ocean 
sleeping  at  its  feet,  and  watch  the  blazing  red 
change  to  gold,  and  the  gold  to  saffron,  and  the 
saffron  to  pink,  —  and  opaHne,  and  gray,  and 
somber  lead  —  and  the  evening  star  and  the 
crescent  moon  of  an  Irish  summer  night. 


THE    END 


INDEX 

PAGE 

Adrian  IV,  Pope 93 

Aghamarta  Castle 14 

Agriculture  and  Technical  Instruction,  Board  of     .      .      .     299 

Aherlow,  Valley  of 95 

Ailbe,  Saint 109 

"Alien"  Ireland 2i8 

"Alien  of  the  West,  An" 250 

Anglo-Normans  in  Ireland 93  seq.,  156 

Annahkeen  Castle,  near  Galway 187 

Anne's,  St.,  Church,  in  Cork 34 

Antrim  County 152,241 

Aristocracy,  Irish 2l8  seq. 

Arklow,  Famous  Woods  Near I2I 

Armada,  The  Spanish,  at  the  Giant's  Causeway   ....     331 

Athlone,  Garrison  Town  of  Central  Ireland 198 

Auburn,  "The  Deserted  Village" 20^  seq. 

Austin,  Alfred,  Description  of  Killarney 82 

Ballaghkeeran  Village,  Near  Auburn 203 

Ballycuirke  Lough 191 

Ballycurrin  Castle,  near  Galway 187 

Ballyhoura  Hills  in  South  Ireland 95,119 

Ballykeel  Moat,  Near  Ballymena,  in  County  Antrim  .  .  318 
Ballymena,  a  Flax-Manufacturing  Town  in  County  Antrim  318 
Ballymoney,  a  Market  Town  in  County  Antrim     .     278,279,318 

Bann,  River,  in  County  Antrim 253, 320 

Banshee,  The,  Ireland's  Greatest  "Spirit"     .     135,  136,  315,  323 

335 


336  INDEX 

PAGE 

Barr,  Saint  Finn,  the  Founder  of  Cork 31 

Bars,  Irish,  The  Frequency  of 236 

Bars,  Irish,  The  Luxuriancy  of 96 

Beaconsfield's,  Lord,  Speech  on  Ireland 3 

Beggars,  Irish,  The  Importunities  of 38 

Belfast,  the  Largest  City  of  Ireland 21,152,253 

Benandonner,  The  Giant 330 

Black  Head,  on  Galway  Bay 181 

Black  Rock  Castle  on  the  River  Lee 14 

Blackwater  River  in  South  Ireland 308 

Blackwater  Valley 94 

Blarney  Castle 43  seq. 

Blarney  Lake        46 

Blarney  Stone,  The 30, 44,  48 

Blarney,  The  Groves  of 53 

Blarney  Village 30,41,43 

Blood,  Irish,  Mixed 231 

Boglands  of  Galway 163 

Boyne,  Battle  of  the 252, 258 

Brefni,  Lord,  or  Chief  of 92 

Brian  Boru 92,254 

Bridget,  Saint 149 

Bruce,  Edward,  Crowned  King  of  Ireland 252 

Buchanan,  James,  a  Scotch-Irishman 281 

Buckingham,  Marchioness  of,  at  Dunluce  Castle       ...      .     324 
Bush  Mills,  in  Antrim,  near  the  Giant's  Causeway  .      .      .     325 

Calhoun,  John  C,  a  Scotch-Irishman 281 

Cashel,  City  of,  in  County  Tipperary  ....        103, 107, 108 

Cashel,  Rock  of 103, 106, 108 

Catholic  Church,  The 232,241 

Causeway,  The  Giant's,  in  County  Antrim 321 

Caxton's  History 317 

Celtic  Revival  of  Literature,  The 248 


INDEX  337 

PAGE 

Cenn-gecan,  an  Early  King  of  Munster 117 

Censuses  of  Ireland 284  seq. 

Characteristics  of  the  North  and  the  South  Irish       .      .      .     263 

Charleville,  Town  of 95 

Chimney-Tops,  The,  at  the  Giant's  Causeway     .      .      .      .331 

Church  Life,  Irish 240 

"  City  of  the  Violated  Treaty,  The  " 146 

Claddagh,  The,  Part  of  Galway  City 175 

Clancarty,  The  Lords  of 45 

Clare,  County 61 

Clare,  Richard  of.  Known  as  "Strongbow" 93 

Classes,  The  Two  Irish 218,231 

Clericaune,  The,  an  Irish  Spook 133 

Clonakilty,  on  the  South  Irish  Coast 5 

Clonmel,  The  Church  of,  near  Queenstown 14 

Clontarf,  Battle  of 92,254 

Cloyne,  Village  and  Tower  of 14 

Coleraine,  a  Town  of  North  Ireland 320 

Comeragh  Mountains  in  South  Ireland 118 

Commerce  with  Southern  Europe,  Galway's 157 

Congested  Districts  Board 90, 126 

Congregationalists,  The 241 

Connaught,  The  Province  of 92 

Connemara,  The  Western  Portion  of  County  Galway     .    156,232 

Constabulary,  The  Irish 69 

Corcach,  The  Old  Name  of  Cork 33 

Core,  Son  of  Loo-ee 105 

Cordiality  of  Galway  People 173 

Cork  Harbor 15 

Cork,  The  Ancient  City  of 19,25,31 

Cormac  MacCarthy 45,110 

Cormac's  Chapel,  on  the  Rock  of  Cashel 109 

Corrib,  Lough 175 

Country  Church,  The  Irish 241 


338  INDEX 

PAGE 

Courtmacsherry  Bay 5 

Courtship,  Irish  Method  of 225  seq. 

Cove  of  Cork lO 

Creagh,  Archbishop no 

Creameries lOO 

Cromlechs,  Remains  of  Early  Inhabitants       ....      13,  105 

Cromwell,  Oliver 293 

Cromwell's  Armies  at  Killarney 80 

Crops  of  Ireland,  The 304  seq. 

Crow,  The  Irish 75 

Danes  in  Ireland 32,91 

Dan,  Father 226 

Danish  Raths 203 

Declan,  Saint 109 

Decrease  in  Population 269,282,286 

Denominational  Statistics 264 

Dense  Forests  of  Early  Ireland 104 

Description  of  Ireland,  General 284 

Deserted  Village,  The      ...            205  seq. 

Devil's  Bit  Mountains 116 

Devonshire,  Duke  and  Duchess  of 94 

Devorgilla,  Wife  of  the  Chief  of  Brefni 92 

Disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church 265 

Divisions  of  Ireland,  The  Four 254 

Doneraile  Park 95 

Doordry 105 

Down,  County 21,241,252 

Downpatrick,  Burial-Place  of  St.  Patrick 21 

Drake,  Sir  Francis 14 

Drake's  Pool,  near  Cork  Harbor 14 

Drink  Bill,  Ireland's  Great 98 

Drinking  in  Ireland 9^ 

Drogheda,  Siege  Town,  North  of  Dublin 2^2 


INDEX  339 

PAGE 

Dromineer  Castle 187 

Druidical  Remains 318 

Druidism,  Religion  of 105 

Druids,  in  Early  Ireland       .      ; 13,20 

Dublin  City 252 

Dundalk 252 

Dundrum,  Railway  Station  in  the  Golden  Vale    ....      144 

Dunloe,  Gap  of,  at  Killarney 63 

Dunluce  Castle,  on  the  Northern  Coast 323  seq. 

Dunraven,  The  Earl  of,  a  Reformer 298,311 

Durmot  MacMurragh 92 

Eagle's  Nest,  at  Killarney 63 

Early  Ireland 104,178,179 

Elizabeth,  Queen 255 

England's  Conquest  of  Ireland 91  seq. 

Ennis,  a  Town  in  County  Clare 232 

Episcopalians,  The 241,264 

Erne  River 308 

"Faerie  Queene,  The" 95 

Fairies,  Irish  Belief  in I2g  seq. ,20^ 

Fairs,  Irish 237  seq. 

Famine,  The  Potato 11,286 

Father  Matthew 97 

Fear  of  the  Peasantry,  The  Gentry's 233 

Fenian  Revolt 233 

Fights  on  Hiring  and  Market  Days 12I 

Fingal's  Cave         329 

Finian,  Saint,  Founder  of  Innisfallen  Abbey 81 

Fin  MacCoul,  the  Giant 330 

Finn  Barr,  Saint,  Founder  of  Cork 31 

Fitzgeralds,  The 13 

Fitz-Stephen,  James  Lynch 180 


340  INDEX 

PAGE 

Fitz-Stephen,  Robert 93 

"Five  Years  in  Ireland,"  McCarthy 271 

Flax  Manufacture 253 

Fuel,  Peat  or  Turf  Used  for 168 

Funerals,  Irish 242^^9. 

Gabhul 21 

Gaelic  League 90,239,309 

Gaelic  Tongue 131,242,244 

Galley  Head 5 

Galway  City •    .      .  154  5^^.,  178 

Galway  County,  Fences  of 162 

Galty  Mountains         95,119 

Geese,  Strings  of 73 

Giant's  Causeway,  The 321  seq. 

Glandore  Harbor 5 

Glaryford,  in  County  Antrim 319 

Glassan,  "The  Village  of  Roses" 204 

Glena  Wood 82 

Golden  Bridge 140 

Golden  Vale  of  Tipperary     ....     87,95,114,119,125,289 

Golden,  Village  of 140 

Goldsmith,  Oliver 206 

Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village 205  seq. 

Goldsmith,  The  Rev.  Charles 206 

Goold's  Cross 103 

Grattan 149 

Groves  of  Blarney,  The         53 

Gwynn,  Stephen 127,272 

Hearth-Money  Collectors'  Census 285 

Henry  II  of  England 93, 156 

Hibernia 20 

Hiring  Day  in  Ireland 119,241 


INDEX  341 

PAGE 

Homes,  Neglected  in  Ireland 127,235 

Home  Rule 88, 258 

Home  Rule,  Scotch  View  of 88 

Hore  Abbey,  at  Cashel 116 

Hospitality,  Irish         52 

Imokilly,  Seneschals  of 13 

Inchacommaun 187 

Inchiquin 187 

Industries  of  the  North 263 

Inishmicatreer 187 

Inishmore 181 

Innisfallen,  Annals  of 81 

Innisfallen,  Island  and  Abbey 80 

Interiors  of  Irish  Homes 291 

Intolerance  of  Protestants 262 

Ireland,  Area  of 284 

"Ireland  at  the  Cross-Roads,"  by  Filson  Young  220,251,266 
"Ireland  Industrial  and  Agricultural,"  by  Coyne.  .  .  .  251 
"Ireland  in  the  New  Century,"  by  Sir  Horace  Plunkett    250,275 

Irish  Church,  The 264 

Irish  in  America,  The 298 

Irish  Pronunciation  and  Speech 223 

Irish  Type,  The 219,222 

Irish  View  of  England 153 

Jackson,  Andrew 281 

Jackson,  General  "Stonewall" 281 

Jackson,  Miss,  Relative  of  Stonewall  Jackson      ....  232 

James  I  of  England 255 

James  II  of  England 258 

Jarconnaught 175,190 

Jaunting-Car,  The  Irish 12 

Jeffreys,  Sir  James 46 


342  INDEX 

PAGE 

Jews  in  Ireland 241 

John,  King  of  England 94 

Keen  and  Keeners,  The 244 

Kenmare,  Earl  of,  and  Estate 67 

Kerry  County 58 

Kerry  County,  Decrease  in  Population 125 

Kildare,  Earl  of .*...,  no 

Killarn 105 

Killarney,  Lakes  and  Mountains  of 62 

Killarney  Town 58, 61 

Kilcolman  Castle 95 

Kilkenny-West,  Charles  Goldsmith  made  Rector  of       .      .  210 

Kilkenny-West,  Pinnacle  of 205 

Killaloe 188 

Kinsale,  Old  Head  of ,  5 

Kinvarra 188 

Kippeen,  a  Staff  for  Fighting I2l 

Knockdrin  Castle 187 

Knockgraffon,  Moat  of 139 

Land  Acts 294 

Land  Bill  of  1903 294,327 

Leane,  Lough 63 

Lee,  River 14 

Lee,  Valley  of  the 55 

Leinster  Province 92 

Leprahawn,  The 133*203 

Limerick,  County 95 

Limerick  County,  Decrease  in  Population  of 125 

Limerick  Junction 95 

Limerick,  The  Ancient  Siege  City 95 

Lisburn 253 

Lisdoonvarna 188 


INDEX  343 

PAGE 

Lismore,  Village  and  Castle 94 

Lissoy,  The  "Deserted  Village" 205 

Longford  County 2I0 

Low-back  Cars 41 

Lynch,  Hannah 228 

Lynch's  Castle 180 

Lurgan 253 

MacCarthy,  Cormac         45»iio 

MacCarvill,  David 116 

MacCoul,  Fin,  The  Giant 330 

MacCulinan,  Cormac no 

MacGillicuddy  Reeks,  at  Killarney 63 

Mahony,  Francis  S.,  The  Poet        54 

Mallow  Junction 61,94 

Mary,  Castle 13 

Mass,  Sunday 241 

Matthew,  Father  Theobald         97 

McCarthy,  Justin 92 

McCarthy,  Michael  J.  F 128,270 

McKinley's,  President,  Ancestral  Home 280 

McMurragh,  Dermot 92 

McQuillans,  The,  Builders  of  Dunluce  Castle      ....  324 

Meeting  of  the  Waters,  Killarney 63 

Methodists,  The 241,264 

Mildwin  O'Donoghue 81 

Millikin,  Richard  Alfred,  The  Poet 53 

Monoghan  County 152 

Montaigne,  Earl  of 94 

Moore,  Thomas 82 

Moryson's  Census 285 

Moycullen,  in  Gal  way 175 

Moyne         187 

Muckross  Abbey,  at  Killarney 80 


344 


INDEX 


PAGE 

Muckross  Lake,  at  Killarney 63 

Munster,  The  Province  of 45, 88,  92,  269, 270 

Muskerry,  The  Lords  of 45 

"My  New  Curate,"  by  Father  Dan 226 

Natfraitch,  King 117 

National  Schools 151,204,240,272,309 

Neagh,  Lough 314 

Neglected  Homes  in  Ireland       .      .      .  • 127,235 

Newry,  a  City  of  County  Down 253 

Newspapers,  Irish 25 

Norman  Conquest  of  Ireland 91 

O'Brien,  Donald no 

O'Briens,  The 13 

O'Connor,  Hon.  T.  P 98,261,269 

Occupations  of  the  Irish  People 289 

O'Donnell,  Earl  of  Tyrconnel 255 

O'Donoghues,  The 80 

Oengus,  Patrick's  First  Convert  in  South  Ireland        109,  116,117 

O'Neil,  Earl  of  Tyrone 255 

O'Neils,  The,  of  Ulster         3^4- ^eq. 

Orangemen,  Society  of 257 

Oranmore 188 

Origin  of  Lynching 180 

Pallas,  the  Birthplace  of  Oliver  Goldsmith 210 

Parnell 149 

Partial  Character  of  the  Norman  Conquest     .....       94 

Pasturage  Supersedes  Tillage 282 

Patrick,  Saint  . 20,109,149,318 

Peasant  Woman,  The  Irish 2341^^. 

Peasant  Woman,  The  Irish,  Her  Duties 236  seq. 


INDEX  345 

PAGE 

Peat-Cutting  in  Galway 164.  seq. 

Penn,  William 14 

Petty,  Sir  William,  Census  of 285 

"Pigeons,  The" 210,215 

Pinnacle  of  Kilkenny-West,  The 205 

Plantation  of  Ulster,  The 255,  266 

PI unkett.  Sir  Horace 250,275,311 

Politics,  Irish  Interest  in 161 

Pooka,  The 135 

Pope  Adrian  IV gj 

Population  of  Ireland 11,284 

Portadown 253 

Port-na-Spania 331 

Portrush,  in  County  Antrim 152,321 

Potato  in  Ireland,  The 305 

Presbyterians,  The  Irish 241,264,265 

Presbyterians,  The  Irish,  Thrift  of 275 

Pride,  Irish 228  seq. 

"Priests  and  People  in  Ireland,"  by  Michael  McCarthy      .     271 

Protestant  Ireland 255  seq. 

Prout,  Father,  Francis  S.  Mahony,  The  Poet  ....       35, 54 
Pyne,  Sir  Richard 45 

Queenstown i,  10 

Queenstown  Harbor 6,  7 

Question,  The  Irish 57,288 

Railway  Stations,  Irish 96 

Railway  Travel,  The  Three  Classes  of 17 

Rathlin  Island       . 331 

Raths,  Peopled  with  Fairies 113,203 

Red  Hand,  The  Armorial  Ensign  of  Ulster 314 

Ree,  Lough 199 

Richard  of  Clare 93 


346  INDEX 

PAGE 

Roads,  Irish .     .     .     .55, 224, 304 

"Rock-Close,  The  Sweet,"  at  Blarney 53 

Rock  of  Gashel,  The 103,116 

"Rome  in  Ireland,"  by  Michael  McCarthy     ....   271,278 

Ross  Abbey 187 

Ross  Carberry  Bay 5 

Ross  Castle      .      .      .      .      • 7g 

Rostellan  Castle 13 

Round  Towers,  Irish 1 1 1  seq. 

Sadness,  Irish,  Due  to  Climate 58 

Scotch-Irish,  The 256 

Scotch  View  of  Home  Rule 88 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 52 

"Seething  Pot,  The" 250 

Seven  Heads 5 

Shandon  Bells,  The 34 

Shane's  Castle  in  County  Antrim 315 

Shannon,  The  River         198,308 

Shenandoah  Valley  of  Virginia,  The 87,  234,  279 

Shillalah,  the  Weapon  Used  in  Factional  Fights  .      .      .  121 

Sliemish  Mountain 318 

Slieve-na-Muck  Hills 100 

Spaniards  in  Ireland l^^seq.,ij() 

Spenser,  Edmund  and  His  Home 95 

Sports  in  Ireland,  Sunday 241 

Staffa,  Island  of 329 

Stagnation  in  Agriculture 287 

St.  Anne's  Church,  Cork 34 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis 81 

St.  Nicholas'  Church,  Galway 195 

Stonewall  Jackson 281 

Stonewall  Jackson's  Relative 234 

"Strongbow,"  Richard  of  Clare 93>  156 


INDEX  347 

PAGE 

Suir,  The  River 140,308 

Tillage  Superseded  by  Pasturage 282 

Tipperary  County,  Decrease  in  Population  of      ...      .      124 

Tipperary,  Golden  Vale  of 87 

Tipperary,  Town  of         gg 

Titled  Aristocrats 220 

"To-day  and  To-morrow  in  Ireland,"  by  Gwynn      .127,250,272 

Tore  Lake,  Killarney 63 

Total  Abstinence  Society gy 

Towers,  Irish  Round ill  seq. 

Trains,  Irish 247 

"Tribes  of  Galway,  The" 156 

Turf-Cutting  in  Galway 1645^^. 

Turf-Sellers 65 

Ulster,  Province  of 89,92,255,314 

University  of  Paris 91 

University  of  Virginia 223 

Unthrift,  Irish 229 

Village  of  Roses,  The 204 

Wages  of  Farm  Hands 303 

Wakes,  Irish 242  seq. 

Warden  of  Galway,  The 180 

Waterford,  The  City  of 99 

Wattle,  a  Weapon  Used  in  Fighting I2i 

Weir  Bridge,  Killarney 63 

Wexford,  Taken  by  English 93 

Wicklow  County,  Woods  of I2i 

Wild  Animals  and  Birds,  Early  Irish 104 

William  and  Mary  College  in  Virginia 223 

William  III,  Signed  Charter  of  "City  of  Cashel"     .      .      .  140 


348  INDEX 

PAGE 

William  of  Orange 257 

Wolfe,  Rev.  Charles 14 

Women  of  Ireland 2l8  seq. 

Yeats,  An  Irish  Poet 81 


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